-  2- 


BEGGARS'  GOLD 


By 
ERNEST  POOLE 


His  FAMILY 

THE  HARBOR 

His  SECOND  WIFE 

"THE  DARK  PEOPLE" 

BLIND,  A  STORY  OF  THESE  TIMES 

THE  VILLAGE,  RUSSIAN  IMPRESSIONS 


BEGGARS'   GOLD 

J 


BY 

ERNEST   POOLE 


gocfe 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1921 

All  rights  reserved 


To  M.  A. 


PRINTED   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES    OF   AMERICA 


COPYRIGHT,  1921, 
BY  ERNEST  POOLE. 


electrotyped.     Published  October,  1921. 


Press  of 

J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Company 
New  York,  U.  S.  A. 


To  M.  A. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD 


CHAPTER  I. 
i. 

IN  New  York,  toward  the  end  of  an  afternoon 
in  the  autumn  of  1894,  through  the  strident 
hubbub,  the  jostling,  nervous  rush  of  the  crowds 
pouring  into  the  old  Grand  Central  Station,  came 
two  figures  so  incongruous  that  even  in  that  whirl 
ing  haste  they  drew  curious  glances.  One  was  a 
large,  heavy,  young  man  of  about  twenty-eight,  an 
American.  The  other,  who  barely  reached  to  his 
waist,  was  a  stout,  little  Chinese  boy,  in  a  padded 
coat  of  dark,  blue  silk,  a  black  cap  with  a  big,  red 
button,  blue  trousers  and  white  stockings.  As  he 
jogged  along,  his  diminutive  pigtail  hung  straight 
down  and  his  face  looked  solemnly  straight  ahead; 
but  his  black  eyes  kept  darting  about,  and  as  the 
pair  pressed  into  the  crowd  his  clutch  on  his  huge 
companion's  hand  tightened  and  his  jaws  set  hard. 


:*;.  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

They  had  come  so  far  ahead  of  time  that  they 
found  the  train  not  yet  made  up,  so  they  went  to 
the  waiting  room.  The  place  was  filled  with  trav 
ellers,  many  of  whom  were  as  bored  as  they  seemed; 
but  scattered  all  about  the  room  were  others  whose 
impassive  eyes  concealed  an  inner  universe  of  trav 
ellers'  thoughts  and  feelings  —  memories,  anticipa 
tions,  pictures  of  places  left  behind  but  vividly 
remembered  now,  homes  and  busy  offices;  and  other 
scenes  that  loomed  ahead;  desires,  schemes  and  busi 
ness  worries,  sharp  anxieties,  loves  and  hates,  jokes 
remembered  with  keen  relish,  and  the  pettiest 
little  plans,  hurt  vanities,  small  jealousies  —  all  back 
of  those  impassive  eyes.  Each  one,  busy  with  his 
own,  paid  little  heed  to  the  others.  But  even  these 
people,  as  moments  passed,  cast  looks  of  curious 
interest  at  the  big  man  in  his  plain,  gray  clothes  and 
the  fantastic,  little  boy.  What  had  brought  this 
couple  together? 

A  few  of  the  people  sitting  there  gave  more  than 
a  casual  glance  to  the  pair,  and  most  of  these  more 
attentive  observers  soon  forgot  to  look  at  the  child 
in  their  deepening  interest  in  the  man.  There  was 
nothing  bizarre  about  him.  His  big  burly  figure 
was  clothed  in  a  cheap  loose  suit  of  grey,  with 
bulging  pockets  at  the  sides,  and  he  wore  a  large 
common  straw  hat  over  a  thick  shock  of  hair. 
What  drew  their  attention  more  and  more,  and 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  3, 

gripped  their  curiosity,  was  the  expression  on  his 
face.  For,  in  spite  of  all  its  heaviness,  in  the  sensi 
tive  lips  and  twinkling  eyes  was  an  anxious,  almost 
wistful  quality  which  made  them  ask,  "What  sort 
of  a  man  is  he  ?  What  kind  of  a  life  does  he  lead  in 
this  town,  and  what  in  the  world  is  he  doing  here, 
nurse-maiding  this  young  Celestial?  Are  they  go 
ing  to  China?  .  .  .  No,  only  the  boy.  The  man 
has  come  to  see  him  off." 

This  conclusion  they  soon  reached  through 
watching  the  actions  of  the  pair. 

The  man  took  out  a  bundle  of  tickets  and  looked 
them  over,  one  by  one  —  slowly  and  carefully  giv 
ing  directions.  The  boy  kept  nodding  in  reply,  with 
a  look  of  absorbed  expectancy.  When  his  friend 
had  finished  talking,  they  sat  silent  as  before.  But 
from  time  to  time  the  lips  of  the  Httle  Easterner 
quivered  and  he  clutched  the  other's  arm.  And  into 
the  heavy,  sensitive  face  and  the  twinkling  gray  eyes 
of  the  Yankee  crept  once  more  that  expression  of 
anxiety  and  wistful  regret.  For  the  small  boy  by 
his  side  had  been  connected  intimately  with  the 
happiest  year  of  his  life. 


2. 

From  the  time  when  he  himself  had  been  a  boy 
upon  a  farm,  in  the  inner  world  of  Peter  Wells  the 


4  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

word  China  had  had  a  magic  sound.  As  now  he  sat 
in  the  waiting  room,  there  came  into  his  memory  a 
picture  of  another  day  in  October,  some  twelve 
years  ago,  in  a  village  up  in  the  Berkshires.  Down 
the  mountainside  a  cold  wind  swept  into  a  maple 
grove  where  several  hundred  people  stood  listening 
to  a  speaker  with  a  hard,  clear,  incisive  voice,  a 
missionary  whom  their  church  and  several  other 
churches  were  sending  over  to  China  to  convert  the 
heathen  there.  As  he  talked,  his  words  like  the 
autumn  wind  made  Peter  feel  cold  and  depressed. 
Standing  first  on  one  leg,  then  on  the  other,  he  was 
to  all  appearances  a  dull,  stolid  boy  of  fifteen;  but 
for  all  that,  deep  inside,  he  was  sensitive,  impres 
sionable;  he  lived  alone  with  uthe  Widder  Wells," 
who  was  religious  to  a  degree;  and  he  felt  the  call 
of  the  preacher  now  to  an  extent  that  would  have 
surprised  and  gratified  that  grim  individual,  who 
was  finding  it  hard  to  drive  his  message  into  the 
hearts  of  these  unresponsive  mountaineers.  As  the 
time  for  the  collection  drew  near,  his  voice  rose  in 
a  last  appeal.  China,  a  great  jungle  of  darkness, 
a  bleak  desert  of  despair!  The  missionary,  a 
martyr  and  God's  chosen  instrument,  braving  all, 
enduring  all!  Listening,  Peter  was  made  to  feel 
that  unless  one  offered  himself  to  God  and  said, 
"Lord,  send  me  where  Thou  wilt,"  he  was  a  poor 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  5 

specimen  in  God's  eyes.  And  he  knew  he  would 
never  offer  himself,  and  so  he  felt  guilty  and  de 
pressed. 

His  sense  of  guilt  was  made  more  acute  by  the 
feeling  of  the  silver  dollar  in  one  pocket  of  his 
"pants."  His  devout  mother  had  spurred  him  on  to 
earn  this  money  and  give  it  in  the  collection  today; 
but  clutching  it  tight  in  his  hand  a  vague  but  excited 
determination  was  growing  in  him  to  keep  the  coin 
and  spend  it  at  the  county  seat.  He  could  get  ten 
novels  for  that  dollar  —  ten,  delicious,  thrilling 
tales  of  travel  and  adventure!  As  he  thought  of 
this  sacrilege,  which  he  knew  he  was  about  to  com 
mit,  a  feeling  of  resentment  rose  against  the  mis 
sionary.  But  this  only  made  it  worse;  for  if  he 
hated  this  man  of  God,  in  what  a  hopelessly  dam 
nable  condition  his  own  soul  must  be! 

"I  guess  I'm  headed  for  Hell,  all  right,"  poor 
Peter  thought  discouragedly;  and  in  the  grim,  cold, 
awful  perplexity  of  it  all,  this  business  of  duty,  souls 
and  God,  he  felt  his  whole  mind  drawn  into  a  snarl. 

Then  he  heard  a  low,  sarcastic  voice  mutter  just 
behind  him : 

"God,  but  ain't  he  lucky  —  takin'  a  great  trip 
like  that  —  seein'  all  China  —  while  we  farm?" 

Peter  turned  with  a  slight  start  and  saw  his  uncle, 
William  Gowdy,  a  gnarled,  shaggy  individual  with 


6  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

black  eyes  that  burned  like  coals  from  under  heavy 
eyebrows. 

"Martyr  —  shucks!  Wouldn't  I  like  to  go  to 
China?  Wouldn't  I  like  to  see  the  world?" 

The  voice  of  the  tempter  muttered  on.  And  a 
wave  of  emotion  queer  and  deep  surged  slowly  up 
in  Peter's  breast.  At  first  just  a  glow  of  relief,  it 
warmed  into  an  exciting  sense  of  peril  and  adven 
ture.  Bill  Gowdy  was  a  dangerous  man ;  some  even 
called  him  an  uinfidel".  And  so  his  rough  whisper 
now  was  like  the  very  voice  of  the  Devil !  But  it  did 
warm  Peter  so !  It  tightened  his  grip  on  that  silver 
coin,  unlocked  his  tortured  snarl  of  thoughts,  broke 
the  spell  of  the  preacher's  eye. 

"Martyr  —  shucks !" 

With  a  grunt  of  contempt,  William  Gowdy  turned 
away.  Presently  Peter  followed  him;  and,  as  he 
walked  out  of  the  grove,  that  exultant  glow  of  relief, 
which  he  did  not  trouble  to  understand,  was  with 
him  still.  "Martyr  —  shucks!"  Those  magic 
words  seemed  to  have  set  him  suddenly  free.  Once 
more  he  gripped  the  silver  dollar.  He  had  earned 
it  cent  by  cent.  Ten  dime  novels !  "By  Golly,  I'll 
get  'em!  I've  a  right  to  'em!"  he  thought.  Ten 
wild,  fascinating  tales  that  would  carry  him  out  all 
over  the  earth!  Again  he  heard  his  uncle's  voice: 
"Wouldn't  I  like  to  go  to  China?"  And,  as  though 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  7 

unlocked  from  a  prison  cell,  the  thoughts  and 
fancies  of  Peter  Wells,  with  a  slow  start  but  gath 
ering  speed,  sped  off  away  to  the  distant  land  behind 
the  great,  red,  autumn  sun  that  was  sinking  over 
the  hills  in  the  west. 

What  did  he  know  about  China?  "I  don't  know 
nuthinY'  he  would  have  replied.  But  out  of  those 
subconscious  depths,  where  all  he  had  ever  heard 
or  seen,  read,  hated,  loved,  desired,  dreamed,  was 
stored  as  in  a  house  of  gold,  up  came  marvellous 
pictures  now.  Golden  idols,  tinkling  bells,  sinister 
priests  on  murder  bent,  lurking  in  dark  temples  with 
long  gleaming  knives  in  their  hands;  enormous 
brightly  painted  junks  attacked  by  swarms  of  river 
pirates;  camels  in  long,  weird  processions  winding 
over  the  desert  at  night;  mandarins  in  shining  robes 
watching  their  dozens  of  gorgeous  young  wives 
dance  before  them  in  the  light  of  tossing  paper 
lanterns;  harem  loves,  escapes  and  murders;  fields 
of  poppies,  opium  dives !  And  Peter,  the  real  Peter, 
had  nothing  to  do  with  this  at  all  except  to  scowl 
and  hold  his  breath,  as  the  pictures  and  entrancing 
sounds  kept  rising  up  before  him.  The  spell  was 
brief.  Too  engrossed  to  notice  that  his  feet  were 
blearing  him  home,  the  luckless  lad  was  roused  from 
his  trance  by  the  hard  voice  of  "the  Widder  Wells" 
and  sent  about  the  evening  chores.  But  he  saw  the 


8  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

East  in  dreams  that  night.  And  waking  in  the  cold, 
dark  drawn,  with  other  chores  ahead  of  him,  he 
groaned  with  the  tedium  of  his  lot. 

"China!     Gosh!"  he  whispered. 

In  the  next  week  the  vision  paled.  The  stolid 
Peter  of  everyday  came  back  into  his  own.  He 
thought,  uNuthin'  ever  comes  of  dreamin'.  Nuthin' 
will  ever  happen  to  me.  There's  nuthin'  in  China  — 
nuthin'  for  me."  And  as  for  those  dime  novels  — 
when  his  mother  gave  him  griddle  cakes  for  dinner 
that  day,  and  other  things  he  liked  to  eat,  as  a  re 
ward,  she  told  him,  for  the  dollar  he  had  given  to 
God  —  the  honesty  in  Peter  took  hold  of  him  to 
such  a  degree  that  after  a  long,  inner  struggle  he 
confessed,  gave  up  the  coin,  and  was  filled  with  a 
sense  of  righteousness  which  sat  like  a  big,  solid 
lump  upon  the  rebellious,  eager,  dreaming  Peter 
underneath.  Moreover,  despite  his  hearty  dislike 
of  the  chores,  he  loved  the  life  of  this  farm  far  up 
on  the  broad  mountainside.  There  were  so  many 
things  he  liked  to  do.  With  two  other  boys  he  was 
nutting  that  autumn  and  setting  out  traps  for  mink 
and  foxes;  and  with  an  old  shotgun  he  went  after 
"patridges".  And  often  there  were  sunsets  that 
made  him  feel  all  queer  inside  —  though  he  would 
have  flushed  indignantly  if  anyone  had  told  him  so. 

"I'm  doin'  pretty  well  as  I  am,"  thought  Peter. 
He  soon  settled  back  into  the  familiar  rut,  and  would 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  9 

no  doubt  have  stayed  there,  were  it  not  for  a  little 
discovery  that  he  made  one  autumn  night  down  in 
Bill  Gowdy's  general  store. 

He  had  seldom  talked  to  his  uncle  before.  Bill 
Gowdy  was  a  dangerous  man.  Gnarled  and  gray  at 
fifty-five,  childless  and  a  widower,  he  lived  alone  in 
the  rear  of  his  store  and  "kept  himself  to  himself" 
—  except  for  rebel  mutterings  against  the  church, 
the  library,  the  school,  and  even  the  name  of  the 
town.  "Pearly  Gates !"  he  was  heard  to  sneer,  as 
he  stamped  it  on  the  evening  mail.  The  post  office 
was  in  his  store.  He  had  been  able  to  keep  it  there 
by  the  hold  that  his  sarcasms,  his  gleaming  com 
ments  on  events,  had  on  the  male  citizens.  They 
liked  to  chuckle  at  Bill's  remarks.  But  "the  Wid- 
der  Wells"  was  one  of  those  who  spoke  of  him  as 
"an  infidel  doin'  no  good  to  God  or  man."  And 
so  young  Peter  had  let  him  alone. 

But  now,  one  night  when  the  store  was  empty, 
he  found  his  uncle  in  the  back  room,  with  an  enor 
mous  book  in  his  lap,  in  which  he  was  pasting  some 
thing.  And  so  engrossed  did  he  appear  that  Peter 
was  drawn  as  though  by  chains  to  come  softly  closer. 
Then  it  was  that  he  made  his  discovery.  Bill  Gowdy 
had  a  collection  of  stamps !  For  years  he  had  col 
lected,  until  the  hobby  had  become  a  kind  of  holy 
of  holies,  jealously  kept  from  village  eyes,  perhaps 
for  fear  of  ridicule.  "It's  none  of  their  business!" 


io  BEGGARS7  GOLD 

he  would  have  snarled,  had  he  been  asked  the  reason 
why.  With  a  startled  uHuh!"  he  now  looked  up 
and  closed  the  huge  volume  with  a  slam.  Then  on 
second  thought,  apparently  deciding  that  his  only 
chance  to  keep  this  young  fool  quiet  was  to  let  him 
into  the  secret,  too,  he  said: 

"You  give  me  your  promise  to  shet  up,  an'  I'll  let 
you  have  a  look  at  this  album." 

So  began  an  intimacy  which  turned  the  whole 
course  of  Peter's  life.  The  wide  world  was  in  that 
book,  and  the  fascination  of  it  all  grew  and  grew 
upon  him.  The  fascination  of  foreign  names,  of 
tiny,  colored  pictures  of  kings,  emperors,  rajahs, 
shahs,  of  great  national  heroes,  of  old  cities,  tem 
ples,  mosques,  of  lions,  elephants,  unicorns,  of  ships 
and  harbors,  mighty  rivers.  This  did  not  happen  all 
at  once.  After  the  first  excitement,  the  heavy  Peter 
of  everyday  quickly  reasserted  himself.  "There's 
nuthin'  in  stamps,  nuthin'  really  at  all,  but  a  lot  of 
little  fool  pictures,"  he  thought.  But  as  before,  so 
now  again,  the  dreaming  Peter  deep  inside  was 
stirred  and  roused  by  his  uncle  Bill,  to  whom  these 
stamps  were  windows  opening  on  foreign  lands. 
Every  dollar  he  could  save,  by  close  bargaining  in 
his  store,  went  into  his  collection.  He  fixed  his 
thoughts  on  some  rare,  old  stamp  listed  in  his  cata 
logues,  then  saved  and  cheated  until  he  could  buy  it. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  II 

And  as  Peter  saw  the  collection  grow,  he  himself 
became  filled  with  the  lust  of  possession.  He  did 
odd  jobs  about  the  store  and  took  his  pay  in 
"traders."  On  winter  nights  he  hurried  through 
the  chores  at  home  and  followed  the  winding,  snowy 
road  down  to  the  village,  to  be  in  time  for  the  even 
ing  mail.  Gone  was  all  dread  of  his  uncle  now;  and 
the  little  lies  he  had  to  tell,  the  secrecy  of  the  whole 
adventure,  only  gave  an  added  zest.  To  go  through 
the  night  mail  was  like  digging  for  gold;  for,  though 
all  the  letters  were  domestic  as  a  rule,  there  came 
out  of  the  bag  at  intervals  a  letter  or  a  postcard 
from  a  young  marine  engineer  whose  home  had  been 
in  Pearly  Gates.  From  Calcutta  and  Bombay, 
Shanghai,  Yokohama  and  many  other  Eastern  ports, 
these  letters  came.  He  followed  them  home  to  get 
the  stamps,  sometimes  he  heard  them  read  aloud, 
and  his  imagination  burned ! 

Except  for  the  few  forbidden  tales  of  travel  and 
adventure  that  he  had  secretly  bought  or  borrowed, 
Peter  had  found  most  books  a  bore.  He  turned  to 
them  now  to  get  food  for  his  dreams,  but  the  food 
was  not  there.  The  high  school  geographies  were 
filled  with  facts  as  dry  as  hay ;  and  the  books  in  the 
village  library,  selected  by  the  minister  and  two  of 
his  deacons,  seemed  to  have  been  written  on  pur 
pose  to  show  there  was  not  a  thrill  on  the  face  of 


12  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

the  earth  —  least  of  all  in  heathen  lands.  Now  he 
began  to  understand  Bill  Gowdy's  lone  rebellion 
against  library,  church  and  school. 

"They  set  out,"  said  Bill,  "to  make  the  world 
look  so  tarnation  flat  and  cold,  it'd  freeze  a  man 
into  thinkin'  of  heayen.  They  set  out  to,  an'  they 
done  it!" 

Filled  with  a  curious,  grim  delight  at  the  hold 
which  his  beloved  stamps  were  getting  on  his 
nephew,  and  more  eager  than  he  knew  to  share  his 
secret  passion,  he  now  let  Peter  deeper  into  his 
strange  treasure  house.  On  some  of  the  stamps 
were  long,  dizzy  words  in  queer,  heathen  characters, 
Greek  and  Arabic,  Chinese.  With  the  aid  of  half 
a  dozen  little  foreign  dictionaries,  they  worked  them 
out  together,  pronounced  them  with  a  nasal  twang, 
savored  them;  and  later  on,  in  payment  for  more 
work  in  the  store,  he  began  to  give  Peter  lessons 
in  German  —  a  language  such  as  never  before  had 
been  heard  upon  the  face  of  the  globe  —  for  Bill 
Gowdy  had  learned  it  all  alone. 

"I  chose  German,"  he  remarked,  "because  in 
these  commercial  days  if  you  speak  German  and 
English  you  can  get  along  most  anywhere.  And 
when  I  began  to  learn  it,  over  twenty  years  ago,  I 
still  had  hopes  of  travellin'."  He  sank  into  gloomy 
thoughts.  "But  my  wife  was  alive,"  he  muttered. 
Presently  he  shot  a  look  at  Peter  from  under  his 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  13 

shaggy  brows.  "Why  don't  you  go  travellirv  ? 
Your  mother  ain't  so  long  for  this  world.  Why  not 
begin  to  fix  things  now  so  you  can  move  —  an'  keep 
on  movin'?  Get  a  job  that'll  take  you  around!" 

"What  job  ?"  burst  from  Peter  Wells.  Watching 
his  blunt,  freckled  face,  his  uncle's  eyes  grew  quiz 
zical. 

"God  knows,"  he  said.  But,  for  all  its  heaviness, 
Peter's  was  a  sensitive  face;  and,  at  the  hurt  ex 
pression  of  woeful  disappointment  that  swept  over 
it,  in  a  tinder  tone  old  William  Gowdy  added,  "But 
there's  always  a  chance  for  a  travellin'  job  if  you've 
got  a  furrin  language." 

So  the  lessons  were  begun.  Peter  made  slow 
headway  at  first;  but,  doggedly  holding  to  the  tasks 
that  his  uncle  gave  him  every  night,  at  last  he  was 
able  to  speak  a  few  words,  with  Bill  Gowdy's  accent. 
And  now  as  they  talked  it  back  and  forth,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  sixteen  years,  Peter's  dull  convic 
tion,  that  he  could  never  do  or  be  anything  of  any 
account,  began  to  lift,  and  there  came  intimations 
of  thrilling  powers  in  himself  —  deep,  deep  inside, 
like  buried  springs.  Though  he  had  no  definite  plan 
or  ambition,  he  built  pictures  of  himself  in  China, 
Russia,  Africa.  But  he  was  slow,  and  chained  as 
he  was  to  "the  Widder  Wells"  and  the  work  on  the 
farm,  the  idea  of  running  away  barely  even  entered 
his  head.  Peter  was  pretty  comfortable.  He  was 


14  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

fond  of  his  mother,  used  to  her;  and,  besides,  she 
was  getting  old.  No,  he  could  not  leave  her  yet. 
So  the  months  slipped  into  years;  and  Peter  was 
nearly  twenty  before  the  first  opportunity  came  to 
escape  the  dull  routine  of  the  farm. 

In  the  village  school  and  high  school,  a  new  prin 
cipal  had  arrived  and  was  ejecting  a  little  old  life 
by  dismissing  the  three  teachers  there.  Two  of  the 
places  had  been  filled,  but  the  third  was  vacant  still; 
and  in  spite  of  his  uncle's  disapproval  and  sarcastic 
comments,  Peter  listened  to  the  urgings  of  the  new 
school  principal,  who  was  having  a  desperate  time 
to  fill  the  one  remaining  place.  Sensing  Peter's 
wanderlust,  he  urged  that  the  only  chance  for  that 
lay  in  ar  education. 

"At  least,"  said  Peter,  "it's  a  chance.  It's  a 
damn  sight  better  than  workin'  a  farm." 

"It  isn't !"  growled  his  uncle  Bill.  "There's  some- 
thin'  real  about  a  farm.  This  is  just  fillin'  yourself 
with  lies  and  feedin'  'em  out  into  the  minds  of  a 
lot  of  Christ-forsaken  sheep !" 

But  Peter  made  up  his  mind  to  try,  and  for  five 
uneventful  years  he  taught  school  in  Pearly  Gates. 
The  new  principal  was  called  away  to  a  big  school 
in  Burlington;  back  came  the  old  order  of  things, 
the  dry  dust  of  dull  routine;  and  settling  into  that 
village  world  of  bleak  concentration  on  its  own 
laborious  affairs,  as  Peter  grew  into  his  twenties  he 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  15 

began  to  feel  settled  for  life.  His  mother  was  still 
ailing,  and  the  idea  of  looking  about  for  a  job  away 
from  home  would  never  have  occurred  to  him,  had 
it  not  been  for  Bill  Gowdy. 

"There's  other  ways  of  teachin'  things,  there's 
other  kinds  of  schools,"  he  said,  "with  some  life  in 
'em.  Go  to  New  York.  There  are  libraries  there 
where  you  can  get  books  from  every  country  under 
the  sun,  without  its  costin'  you  a  cent.  And,  if  you 
ain't  blind  enough  to  let  some  simperin'  fool  of  a 
gal  slip  into  place  as  your  lawful  wife,  you  can  save 
your  money  for  travellin'.  You  say  you  like  geog 
raphy  best.  All  right,  then  make  it  your  specialty. 
Your  true  geography  teacher  ought  to  see  and  keep 
seein'  furrin  lands!" 

The  idea  took  hold  of  Peter  and,  to  get  ready  for 
such  a^  life  if  the  chance  ever  came  to  him,  he  went 
on  with  his  German,  then  tackled  a  little  French  and 
Italian.  In  these  studies  his  uncle  joined,  and  what 
he  did  not  mispronounce  Peter  did.  At  night,  in 
the  back  room  of  the  store,  strange  languages  were 
spoken ! 

But  all  this  time  another  side  of  Peter  had  been 
developing,  and  it  filled  his  uncle  with  disgust.  The 
little  town  of  Pearly  Gates  was  not  all  grim  and 
heavy  toil;  it  had  its  genial  spirits,  who  could  never 
be  content  unless  they  were  getting  up  church  sup 
pers,  picnics,  "sugarin'  offs",  sleigh  rides,  dances. 


1 6  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

And,  because  young  men  were  scarce,  Peter  had  been 
much  in  demand.  Nor  had  he  been  slow  to  respond. 
For,  beside  the  curious  Peter  of  visions  and  imag 
inings,  there  was  a  comfortable  Peter  Wells,  a  large, 
stout,  sociable  young  man  who  liked  to  be  friendly, 
an  overgrown  boy,  a  human,  kindly,  wistful  soul 
who  felt  himself  bubbling  inside  with  genial  humor, 
and  with  elephantine  grace  tried  at  times  to  get  it 
out.  And,  when  they  laughed  at  his  quips  and  jokes, 
he  was  content  with  Pearly  Gates.  After  all,  it  was 
quite  a  town.  Moreover,  he  had  warm  blood  in  his 
veins,  and  he  felt  at  times  desires  that  filled  him 
with  a  strange  delight  and  a  savage  restlessness. 
These  he  clothed  in  sentiment  and  often  thought 
himself  in  love.  From  such  affairs  he  was  drawn 
back  by  the  caustic,  mute  derision  of  his  uncle ;  but, 
as  the  years  wore  on,  one  girl,  a  curly  headed  blonde, 
emerged  from  all  the  others.  She  had  red  lips,  gay, 
shining  eyes  and  a  fresh,  enticing  smile  that  hid  a 
placid  soul  beneath.  She  was  disturbed  by  no  de 
sires  for  outlandish  countries.  She  loved  to  dance. 
On  summer  nights  she  liked  a  buggy  and  a  man. 
She  wanted  a  home  and  babies.  She  knew  how  to 
chloroform  by  smiles  the  queer,  rebellious  Peter, 
and  to  warm  and  glorify  all  the  everyday  life  he 
loved.  And,  beneath  her  merry  laughter  and  her 
giggles  at  his  jokes  and  the  lofty  sentiments  they 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  17 

so  earnestly  exchanged,  there  was  something  else 
which  grew  and  grew;  and  it  stirred  Peter's  blood 
to  such  a  degree  that  by  the  time  of  his  mother's 
death  he  found  himself  pretty  nearly  engaged. 

Once  more  it  was  his  Uncle  Bill  who  came  to  the 
rescue. 

"You  young  idiot,"  he  growled,  when  he  learned 
of  Peter's  predicament,  "you're  free  at  last.  For 
Christ's  sake  run !  I  ain't  saying  nuthin'  against 
the  dead  —  but  oh  God,  how  your  Aunt  Sarah  Jane 
did  love  her  home !  And  all  women  are  like  that ! 
Wives  ain't  budgers!  They  sit  to  home  —  and  the 
law  of  the  land  makes  you  sit  beside  'em !  Now 
look  here !"  he  ended.  "There's  just  one  thing  for 
you  to  do!  Don't  you  never  risk  sayin'  good-bye  to 
that  gal !  Turn  over  the  farm  to  me  to  sell,  pack 
up  to-night  and  get  out  of  town  tomorrow  morning 
at  five  twenty-two  —  by  the  milk  train  —  while  it's 
-^ill  dark!" 

That  night  Peter  Wells  had  a  terrible  walk.  The 
next  morning,  now  heartily  cursing  his  uncle  and 
longing  for  the  girl  behind,  feeling  waves  of  shame 
and  guilt,  of  loneliness  and  uncertainty,  but  again 
with  a  glow  of  anticipation,  he  sat  at  a  car  window 
and  saw  the  day  break  coldly  on  the  wide,  outer 
world  of  his  dreams.  By  nightfall  he  was  in  New 
York. 


1 8  BEGGARS'  GOLD 


Lonely,  baffled,  homesick  there,  he  was  soon  on 
the  point  of  going  home.  But  a  letter  from  his 
uncle  came,  announcing  the  sale  of  Peter's  farm;  and, 
before  he  recovered  from  this  shock,  he  received 
another  in  the  news  that  his  application  for  a  job 
as  substitute  teacher  in  the  city  public  schools  had 
been  granted,  and  that  he  was  assigned  to  a  school 
down  near  Chatham  Square.  Gloomily  he  decided 
to  try  it.  For  weeks,  in  that  mammoth  house  of 
din,  he  wrestled  with  the  job  of  teaching  sixty  ur 
chins  who,  with  sudden  jumps  and  piercing  cries, 
shouted  a  shrill  English  that  he  could  barely  under 
stand.  Outside  of  the  windows,  every  few  moments 
a  train  came  thundering  by  on  the  "L".  A  brief 
respite,  then  another  roar.  And  the  whole  city  was 
like  that.  In  thundering  waves  of  sound  and  color 
it  drove  in  upon  him.  Dazzling  lights  and  swarthy 
faces,  harsh,  incisive,  guttural  voices.  Gone  was 
the  fascination  of  foreigners  for  Peter  now.  He 
saw  them,  dirty,  hard  and  real,  herding  through 
the  streets  at  night.  What  place  for  him  in  such  a 
world?  Doggedly  nevertheless  he  held  on;  and  in 
the  classroom,  facing  those  sixty  little  foreigners, 
he  licked  their  lessons  into  them. 

Then  came  the  evenings.  What  to  do?  Leaving 
his  stuffy  boarding  house  and  looking  about  for 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  19 

some  escape  from  the  din  and  dirt  of  the  foreign 
life,  he  went  up-town,  and  on  Broadway  he  wan 
dered  up  and  down  the  street  hungrily  watching 
the  glittering  dames  who  emerged  from  cabs  and 
carriages  and  poured  into  the  theatres.  He  fol 
lowed  them  in,  and  on  the  stage  saw  others  with 
even  more  vivid  charms.  One  reckless  night,  he 
took  a  seat  right  down  in  the  orchestra.  Beside 
him  a  ravishing  creature,  perfumed  and  smiling, 
whispering,  was  engrossed  in  the  man  on  her  other 
side  to  such  a  degree  as  swept  away  all  the  gloom 
in  Peter  Wells.  Life  was  warm  and  glamorous ! 
"By  God,  I'll  make  my  way  in  this  town,  I'll  get 
my  share  of  all  this!"  he  thought.  A  girl  spoke  to 
him  on  the  street  that  night.  And  Peter  tried  to 
get  his  share.  And  it  left  him  disgusted,  cold,  de 
pressed.  But  even  this  depression  was  unable  long 
to  weigh  him  down. 

"All  right,  I  was  a  young  fool,"  he  thought, 
"but  all  the  same  I'm  going  on  to  get  what  I  set 
out  for." 

He  had  come  to  this  town  to  teach  and  learn, 
and  get  ready  to  travel  and  see  the  world.  And  the 
crisp  days  of  fall  had  come,  and  Peter  felt  as  strong 
as  a  bull.  Finding  a  public  library,  he  asked  for 
French  and  German  books  and  tackled  them  hard, 
night  after  night,  with  a  slow  tenacious  force;  and 
within  a  few  weeks  this  familiar  pursuit  had  given 


20  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

him  a  feeling  of  having  a  foothold  in  the  town.  He 
learned  about  the  night  schools  now  and  began  to 
teach  in  the  evenings.  He  had  a  class  of  German 
Jews,  and  it  gave  him  a  thrill  to  discover  that  Ger 
man  and  Yiddish  were  so  much  alike.  Soon  he 
could  make  himself  understood;  and,  as  he  talked 
to  his  pupils  now,  he  forgot  his  first  revulsion 
against  these  guttural  foreigners.  With  some  of 
the  young  Jews  in  his  class,  he  went  to  cafes  where 
they  talked  and  argued  half  the  night,  recounted 
jokes  and  stories,  played  pinochle,  smoked  cigar 
ettes,  drank  beer  and  tea  and  coffee.  In  these  little 
vices  Peter  took  part.  Puffing  his  pipe,  he  listened 
by  the  hour  to  this  talk,  all  in  a  foreign  language 
which  he  had  learned  to  understand!  It  was  as 
though  a  great  gate  had  opened  wide,  and  in  a 
burst  of  confidence  the  genial  Peter  came  to  the 
surface;  he  gave  them  jokes  and  stories  straight 
from  old  Bill  Gowdy's  store.  His  first  attempts 
fell  rather  flat.  The  young  Jews  stared;  and,  when 
they  laughed,  it  was  at  him,  not  at  his  jokes.  With 
a  scowl  he  drew  back  into  his  shell. 

"My  God,"  thought  poor  Peter,  uhave  I  no  sense 
of  humor?" 

But  a  sharp  voice  broke  into  his  embarrassment, 
and  glancing  up  he  saw  a  thin  young  Hebrew  scorn 
fully  berating  the  group. 

"You're  a  fine  bunch  of  Jews!"  he  cried.     "Ain't 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  21 

you  got  any  sense  at  all?  We  came  to  America, 
didn't  we?  We  came  to  stay  here,  didn't  we,  and 
learn  to  be  Americans  —  to  spread  all  over  the 
country,  get  into  everything,  learn  it  all !  And  here's 
a  new  American  —  a  kind  we've  never  seen  before ! 
Then  why  the  hell  don't  you  give  him  a  chance?" 

The  effect  of  his  words  was  magical.  For  hours, 
as  he  puffed  his  pipe,  Peter  was  kept  answering 
questions  put  with  such  flattering  looks  of  respect, 
that  his  resentment  was  smoothed  away.  He  was 
always  welcome  after  that.  And,  in  the  course  of 
the  next  two  years,  through  his  night  school  classes, 
he  met  other  groups  of  foreigners,  Italians,  Greeks, 
Bohemians.  Gradually,  by  day  and  night,  the  big 
school  building  where  he  taught  became  a  world 
in  itself  to  him.  For  now  he  had  discovered  that, 
in  the  terrific  English  spoken  by  these  immigrants, 
the  accents  were  of  a  hundred  kinds.  Italians  and 
Sicilians,  Greeks  and  some  Armenians,  and  Irish,  a 
few  Austrian  Poles,  and  Jews  from  all  over  Europe, 
were  here.  In  the  class-rooms  and  the  noisy  halls, 
by  day  and  night  to  Peter's  ears,  grown  sensitive 
to  the  slightest  shades,  came  snatches  of  many  for 
eign  tongues.  He  was  learning  to  tell  them  apart. 
And,  proud  of  this  queer  power  of  his,  and  absorbed 
in  this  strange  seethe  and  surge  of  life  so  close 
about  him,  he  had  little  time  to  look  ahead,  or 
back  to  that  day  so  far  behind  when  the  voice  of 


22  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

old  Bill  Gowdy  had  sent  his  fancy  wandering  off  to 
the  land  beyond  the  setting  sun. 

Peter's  grandfather,  Jonathan  Wells,  had  voy 
aged  in  clippers  long  ago  to  India,  China  and  Japan. 
As  though  by  some  mysterious  twist  and  turn  of 
heredity,  Peter  himself  was  voyaging  now.  But 
his  ship  was  his  fancy;  and  his  chart,  his  compass 
and  binoculars  were  verbs,  adjectives  and  nouns  — 
the  strangest,  most  entrancing  nouns,  that  took  him 
sailing  far  away  to  ancient  cities  over  seas.  A 
comfortable  way  of  travelling.  It  began  to  seem  as 
though  the  long,  tormenting  struggle  between  the 
two  Peters  was  settled  at  last.  For  both  of  them 
were  satisfied.  Here  he  could  both  roam  the  world 
and  settle  into  his  student's  groove.  He  bought  a 
new  pair  of  spectacles. 


He  had  quite  forgotten  China,  till  one  night  in 
a  hallway  of  the  school  he  came  upon  a  weird,  little 
irruption.  Out  of  a  class  room  just  ahead  shot  a 
small,  round  figure,  which  turning  blindly  down  the 
hall  dove  straight  at  Peter's  stomach,  rebounded 
and  in  a  frenzy  poured  out  a  sobbing  torrent  of 
words  so  strange  that  Peter  started  forward.  "What 
the  devil  is  this?"  he  asked.  With  the  zeal  of  a 
collector  he  seized  the  urchin  by  the  arm.  The 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  23 

mite  fought  like  a  wildcat.  Turning,  twisting, 
scratching,  he  tore  open  Peter's  vest.  But  Peter 
took  no  notice  of  that,  for  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
hall  he  made  out  a  little  pigtail,  and  with  an  ex 
ultant  thrill  he  tightened  his  grip  upon  his  prey. 
Here  was  a  rare  new  specimen! 

He  heard  a  low,  indignant  voice: 

"What  do  you  mean,"  it  demanded,  "by  man 
handling  this  little  boy?" 

Just  then  the  frantic  urchin  knocked  off  Peter's 
spectacles. 

"Fm  not  man-handling  him,"  Peter  growled,  as 
he  went  like  a  huge  bear  to  his  knees.  "The  pre 
cious  little  brat  is  man-handling  me !" 

He  heard  a  ripple  of  laughter  then,  and  having 
found  his  spectacles  he  rose,  still  holding  his  cap 
tive,  and  confronted  a  dark-haired  girl  with  an 
attractive,  resolute  face,  a  wide,  firm  mouth  with 
sensitive  lips  twitching  with  amusement,  and  two 
challenging  brown  eyes. 

"Moon  Chao,"  she  said.  And  at  her  voice  the 
youngster  became  suddenly  still,  except  for  a  faint 
wailing  sound.  "Will  you  please  give  me  this 
Chinaman?"  Her  voice  was  low  and  quizzical,  and 
her  look  revealed  a  frank  enjoyment  that  put 
Peter  at  his  ease.  Then  happened  an  astonishing 
thing.  The  boy  jabbered  at  her  in  Chinese,  and 
she  replied  in  the  same  tongue  —  speaking  swiftly 


24  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

and  fluently,  as  she  gathered  him  into  her  arms. 
Before  Peter  could  fully  take  this  in,  she  had  flashed 
a  smile  at  him  and  was  gone. 

He  stood  there  staring,  frowning,  then  started 
abruptly  after  her,  and  through  the  open  class  room 
door  he  saw  five  Chinamen  in  a  row.  He  saw  the 
girl  hand  over  her  small  captive  to  the  man  at  one 
end,  a  stout  genial  individual  with  a  placid,  calm, 
intelligent  face,  who  put  one  arm  around  the  boy, 
smiled  down  at  him  and  shook  his  head  in  a  way 
that  said  very  quietly:  uHow  foolish  to  be  so  ex 
cited,  my  son."  The  boy  snuggled  close  in  under 
his  arm,  and  the  work  of  the  class  went  on. 

"Who  is  she?"  wondered  Peter.  "And  how  did 
she  ever  learn  Chinese?" 

He  felt  a  twinge  of  envy,  and  as  he  stood  there 
listening  he  was  stirred  to  the  very  depths  of  his 
language -loving  soul.  Hesitating  for  a  time,  he 
mustered  courage  and  came  in.  She  met  him  with 
a  friendly  smile. 

"This  is  my  China  Club,"  she  said. 

"May  I  listen  a  while?" 

"Of  course  you  may." 

She  pointed  to  a  seat  in  the  rear,  and  turning 
to  the  blackboard  she  began  printing  slowly  in  large 
letters,  "Shut  the  door."  The  row  of  Chinamen 
watched  her  chalk  with  an  interest  breathless  and 
profound,  leaning  forward  in  their  seats.  All  at 


BEGGARS1  GOLD  25 

once  one  of  them  jumped  up,  went  very  quickly  and 
shut  the  door.  As  he  turned  back  in  triumph,  there 
was  a  burst  of  laughter,  and  excited  voices,  each  one 
jabbering  to  his  neighbor,  nodding,  smiling,  beam 
ing.  Presently  they  fell  silent  and  she  began  to 
write  again. 

All  through  the  rest  of  the  evening,  Peter  sat  in 
the  rear  of  the  room,  listening  to  a  language  of 
which  he  could  not  understand  a  word.  "Not  even 
a  root  I"  he  told  himself  in  exasperation  and  delight. 
Here  indeed  was  a  wonderful  tongue !  He  never 
took  his  eyes  off  the  girl.  Who  was  she?  Had  she 
lived  in  the  East?  What  was  she  doing  in  this 
school?  When  she  spoke  English  to  the  class,  his 
sensitive  ear  caught  a  slight  burr  in  her  voice,  which 
was  rich  and  deep.  "Is  she  Scotch,"  he  asked,  "or 
American?"  With  a  barely  conscious  pang  of 
chagrin,  he  felt  that  his  curiosity  was  not  shared  by 
hers  for  him,  for  she  barely  looked  his  way.  She 
showed  an  almost  strained  absorption  in  this  little 
group  of  men.  At  times  her  smile  would  disappear 
and  a  frowning  sharp  intensity  would  creep  into  her 
brown  eyes.  But  when  the  class  was  over  and  the 
beaming  pupils  had  departed  with  many  "good- 
nights,"  she  turned  back  to  Peter  with  a  frank  look 
of  interest. 

"Are  you  teaching  here?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 


26  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

"So  am  I  —  in  the  day  school." 

"But  where  did  you  ever  learn  Chinese?" 

"In  the  dearest,  loveliest  city  on  earth  — 
Peking,"  she  said.  "I  was  born  there." 

"Born  there!" 

"Yes  —  and  I  lived  there  until  I  was  twelve 
years  old." 

Peter  gazed  at  her  with  delight. 

"You  were  lucky!"  he  breathed.  She  had  turned 
to  get  her  hat  and  coat,  but  she  looked  back  at  him 
with  a  lively  curiosity. 

"Yes,  I  know  I  was,"  she  replied.  "But  how  do 
you  know?  Have  you  been  there,  too?" 

"No  —  but  I  mean  to  go,"  he  said,  "to  every 
country  under  the  sun!  And  it  was  China,"  he 
added,  "that  started  me  thinking  —  wanting  that." 

Her  curiosity  increased. 

"How  do  you  mean?    Please  tell  me." 

Little  by  little  she  drew  him  out  —  about  the 
preacher  and  the  stamps,  Bill  Gowdy  and  the 
languages.  Soon  he  was  talking  rapidly,  for  he 
knew  that  the  lights  in  the  building  would  soon 
be  put  out  for  the  night,  and  he  had  a  good  deal 
to  tell  this  girl !  His  fluency  would  have  surprised 
him,  had  he  stopped  to  think  of  that.  For  here 
was  a  kind  of  miracle.  It  was  as  though  the  Peter 
of  dreams  had  burst  up  sharply  through  the  crust, 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  27 

through  the  reserved,  selfconscious  Peter  Wells  of 
every  day.  Abruptly  he  stopped. 

"That's  all,"  he  said. 

"It's  wonderful!" 

"Is  it?"  He  sat  there  in  suspense.  Would  she 
go  now?  How  to  hold  her?  He  mustered  cour 
age,  and  with  a  smile  that  was  meant  to  be  humor 
ous  he  asked,  "Then  will  you  please  tell  me  what 
is  so  wonderful  about  you?" 

She  gave  a  little  laugh  at  that,  then  looked  grave 
ly  back  at  him. 

"The  wonderful  thing  about  me,"  she  said,  "is 
that  I  had  a  father  who  gave  his  whole  life  for  a 
big  idea." 

"In  China?"  Peter  ventured. 

"Yes.     He  was  an  engineer." 

"Was  he  Scotch?"  Peter  asked. 

"Yes!     How  did  you  know?" 

"By  ypur  accent,"  he  answered,  with  a  little 
gleam  of  pride. 

"That's  funny  —  I  didn't  know  that  I  had  it. 
No  one  ever  noticed  it  before.  .  .  .  He  was  born 
in  Scotland,"  she  went  on,  "but  became  an  American 
when  he  married  my  mother  here  and  took  her  with 
him  to  Peking." 

"But  what  did  he  do  in  China?" 

"He  worked  with  Chinese  Gordon  against  the 


28  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

schemes  and  intrigues  of  all  Europe  and  Japan.  His 
love  for  China  was  like  a  religion.  Helpless  now, 
right  down  on  her  back  —  but  with  a  past  and  a 
future  —  oh,  so  vast  and  beautiful."  She  smiled 
a  little.  "Everything's  vast  in  China  —  even  the 
language,"  she  went  on.  "But  he  made  me  learn 
to  speak  it.  My  teachers  were  a  very  solemn,  old 
Confucian  scholar  and  a  funny,  dear,  old  nurse  who 
was  as  fat  as  fat  can  be,  and  wore  blue  silk  trousers. 
We  lived  in  Peking  in  the  winter,  and  in  the  sum 
mer  we  went  out  to  a  lovely  ruined  temple  up  on 
the  side  of  a  low  hill.  My  mother  was  an  invalid, 
so  Dad  and  I  were  very  close.  He  had  to  be  away 
most  of  the  time,  working  on  railroads  and  canals. 
And  often  —  oh,  for  weeks  and  weeks  —  he  worked 
literally  day  and  night.  For  there  was  one  kind  of 
vastness  he  never  could  get  used  to.  When  great 
rivers  overflowed,  hundreds  of  thousands  of  people 
were  drowned.  And  because  he  could  never  get 
used  to  that  he  —  killed  himself  —  by  overwork." 

She  was  looking  directly  at  Peter  now,  but  she 
seemed  barely  to  notice  him. 

"A  little  while  before  he  died,  one  evening  we 
were  together  in  front  of  that  temple  on  the  hill. 
And  the  plain  was  very  dusky  —  with  only  little 
twinkles  of  light,  and  great  shadows  in  between  — 
and  camel  bells  and  sleepy  calls  —  like  a  kind  of 
singing.  I  was  a  small  girl  of  twelve,  but  he  talked 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  29 

to  me  as  though  I  were  grown.  You  see,  he  knew 
that  mother  and  I  would  have  to  go  home  to  Ohio, 
where  my  mother  had  been  born.  But  he  hoped 
that,  when  I  grew  up,  some  day  I  would  come  back 
to  Peking,  and  live  and  work  for  China.  .  .  .  And 
later,  in  Ohio,  I  often  thought  of  what  he  had  said. 
When  I  was  eighteen,  my  mother  died.  I  was  al 
ready  teaching  school,  but  I  decided  that  before  I 
tried  to  get  a  position  in  Peking  I  had  better  go  to 
New  York  and  find  out  more  about  my  job.  So  I 
came  here  three  years  ago  and  worked  my  way 
through  Teachers'  College,"  she  concluded,  smiling. 
"And  so,  Mr.  Wonderful  What's-Your-Name,  I've 
told  you  the  story  of  my  life.  Please  don't  think 
I  do  it  often,  sir.  I'm  really  not  that  kind  at  all." 

"I  told  you  mine,"  said  Peter. 

"Yes,  and  it's  very  wonderful.  What's  your 
name?" 

"Peter  Wells." 

"And  mine,"  she  said,  "is  Katherine  Blake."  She 
was  up  on  her  feet  and  she  held  out  her  hand, 
"Good-night,  Peter  Wells.  Come  back  to  my  China 
Club  —  some  evening  when  your  wonderful  life  is 
not  too  terribly  busy  —  and  learn  a  little  more 
Chinese." 


30  BEGGARS'  GOLD 


That  was  a  great  night  for  Peter.  As  he  went 
home  through  the  din  and  smell  of  the  crowded 
tenement  streets,  he  felt  a  new  immensity  in  all  he 
had  ever  dreamed  about.  Something  in  him  poured 
up  like  fire  and  light.  "China !"  What  new  mys 
tery  and  magic  had  come  into  the  word  ?  The  next 
night  he  went  to  the  library,  got  maps  and  books 
and  plunged  into  the  study  of  China  and  her  lan 
guage.  He  worked  hard  and  did  not  stop  to  face 
embarrassing  questions,  but  all  the  time  he  was 
vaguely  aware  that  this  feeling  of  immensity  and 
fresh  fascination  came  not  only  from  the  East  but 
from  strange  depths  within  himself.  Katherine 
Blake!  With  an  astounding  vividness  her  image 
rose  before  him,  delightful  and  confusing.  But  he 
did  not  believe  in  love  at  first  sight.  That  was  all 
damned  moonshine.  He  had  thought  himself  in 
love  before.  He  wanted  to  keep  this  different.  So 
sternly  he  turned  away  from  her  image  and  went 
doggedly  on  with  his  work.  And,  with  his  gift  for 
languages,  Peter  made  such  headway  that  within 
a  few  weeks,  as  he  strained  his  ears  in  that  small 
Chinese  class  of  hers,  he  began  to  catch  a  few  of 
the  words.  Every  Thursday  evening  he  came  early 
to  the  class,  in  time  for  a  little  talk  before  the  even 
ing's  work  began.  So  he  learned  that  she  lived 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  31 

alone  in  a  boarding  house  on  Stuyvesant  Square, 
that  she  had  a  few  acquaintances  but  not  a  single 
real  friend  in  New  York.  She  was  poor,  and  her 
years  at  college  had  been  crowded  with  little  jobs 
by  which  she  had  managed  to  eke  out  a  living. 
Poor  kid,  what  a  lonesome  time  she  had  had!  He 
became  tremendously  friendly  now;  and,  feeling  her 
quickly  respond  to  his  big  brother  attitude,  with  a 
beaming  satisfaction  he  went  on  mastering  Chinese. 

And  this  brotherly  compassion  and  this  sensible 
friendliness,  and  this  mutual  interest  in  the  Chinese 
language,  were  doing  very  nicely  —  until  one  Thurs 
day  evening.  She  talked  to  her  class  of  China  that 
night,  of  the  boundless  wealth  both  in  the  land  and 
in  the  minds  and  spirits  of  its  four  hundred  million 
people.  In  her  low,  rich  voice,  now  sharp  and  clear, 
she  said, 

"No  matter  how  some  foolish  Americans  may 
laugh  at  you  here,  I  hope  that  you  will  never  forget 
to  be  very  proud  of  your  country.  China  is  poor  — 
but  China  is  rich  —  richer  than  the  wildest  dreams  I" 
She  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  said,  "You 
are  beggars  sitting  on  bags  of  gold!" 

The  brooding,  hungry,  almost  sad,  yet  challeng 
ing  gleam  in  her  brown  eyes  went  into  Peter  like  a 
flame. 

"My  father  said  that,"  she  ended.  "And  it  is 
true  of  all  of  us." 


32  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

Peter  walked  home  with  her  that  night;  and 
though  their  talk  was  all  of  this  gold  that  lies  inside 
each  one  of  us,  and  of  the  books  of  William  James, 
and  of  the  subconscious  self  and  other  very  solemn 
things,  their  excited  voices  kept  breaking  into  laugh 
ter  as  though  it  were  all  the  merriest  and  gayest 
joke  conceivable.  Suddenly  she  stopped  by  his  side. 

"This  is  where  I  am  living/'  she  said. 

Peter  frowned  and  cast  a  look  of  indignant  dis 
approval  up  at  the  offending  house  which  was  about 
to  swallow  her. 

"It  isn't  China,"  he  remarked. 

"How  do  you  know  it  isn't?"  Kate  retorted  grave 
ly.  """It  may  have  a  China  tucked  away  somewhere 
inside." 

A  low  laugh  and  she  was  gone. 

As  Peter  went  home  he  threw  all  cautious  brother 
hood  and  language-learning  to  the  winds.  He  want 
ed  this  girl!  He  had  wanted  her  from  that  first 
night!  Why  not  confess  it?  The  Peter  of  dreams 
was  rampant  now.  In  his  room  he  savagely  looked 
at  himself  in  the  cheap,  cracked  mirror  there  and 
thought,  "It's  hopeless !  How  can  she  care  for  me  ?" 
But  then  again  he  was  shaken  by  this  boundless, 
new  desire,  this  wanting  to  slave  for  her,  give  her 
his  life.  "And  this  is  me,"  poor  Peter  thought. 
"More  real  than  any  other  me  that  I've  known  be 
fore !  And  if  she'll  only  let  me  try.  .  .  ."  His 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  3$ 

imagination  leaped  ahead  to  what  a  Peter  he  might 
be !  Once  more  he  looked  into  the  mirror,  and 
groaned.  "I  may  look  like  a  boarding  house,  but 
by  God  I've  got  a  China  inside !" 

He  grabbed  his  Chinese  grammar  and  went  fero 
ciously  to  work.  For  him  all  other  languages,  and 
all  those  other  friends  of  his,  talking  and  arguing 
in  cafes,  were  out  of  his  existence.  To  go  to  China, 
that  was  enough.  "And  stay  there,  too,  for  the  rest 
of  my  days !"  decided  Peter  recklessly.  He  was  in 
no  mood  for  cautious  thoughts  or  any  sensible  plan 
ning.  His  whole  existence  went  along  Ipy  fits  and 
starts,  by  ups  and  downs.  Now  she  let  him  take 
her  to  concerts,  plays  and  for  long  walks;  and, 
though  they  talked  in  the  friendliest  tone,  up  and 
up  and  up  came  the  gold  —  till  at  times  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  town  was  changed  in  the  most  aston 
ishing  ways,  with  this  glory  that  kept  pouring  up 
from  somewhere  inside  of  them.  Often  he  felt  his 
amazing  luck.  He  had  found  her  just  in  time  — 
while  she  had  no  friends,  while  her  life  in  New 
York  was  still  hard,  bare  and  lonely.  "Thank 
God!"  he  thought.  Then,  "What  a  brute  I  am,  to 
be  glad  of  that !"  With  a  wave  of  remorse  and  ten 
derness,  he  wanted  to  help  her,  give  her  things,  keep 
off  everything  that  was  hard.  "She  isn't  strong," 
he  told  himself.  "She's  living  up  to  the  last  notch." 
But  when  he  showed  the  slightest  sign  of  any  such 


34  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

protecting  mood,  Kate  laughed  at  him.  There  was 
in  this  girl  a  laughing,  warm  vitality,  that  left  him 
humbled  and  abashed.  She  could  think  so  much 
quicker  than  himself.  Now  close,  confiding,  inti 
mate  ;  again  she  would  suddenly  slip  away,  and  wist 
fully  he  felt  depths  in  her  that  he  himself  could 
never  plumb.  Often  she  spoke  of  her  father  and 
the  time  when  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  Peter  lis 
tened  hungrily.  And  the  China  that  he  builded 
was  all  mingled  in  his  fancy  with  lights  that  came 
in  her  brown  eyes,  shades  of  feeling  in  her  voice,  so 
rich  and  low  with  its  slight  burr.  Old  cities,  crowd 
ed,  rich  bazaars,  temples,  mountains,  river  banks, 
came  into  the  picture  one  by  one.  And  now  he 
could  feel  she  was  taking  him  there  and  wanting  him 
to  love  all  that.  Then  suddenly  he  was  left  behind. 

And  Kate  had  her  practical  side.  It  was  not 
only  the  lack  of  money  that  kept  her  from  going 
to  Peking;  there  was  so  much  to  learn  right  here 
in  New  York.  "What  do  I  know  of  America  — 
really  know,  so  that  I  can  teach  it?  Almost 
nothing !"  she  exclaimed.  She  was  taking  various 
courses  up-town  in  domestic  science,  economics;  and 
often  she  would  talk  of  such  work  until  poor  Peter 
was  fearfully  bored.  Suddenly  she  would  relent. 

"I'm  tired  of  being  so  awfully  solemn.  Aren't 
you?"  she  asked,  one  evening. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  35 

"I  am!"  he  replied.  At  the  emphatic  tone  of 
his  voice,  Kate  shot  a  look  at  him  and  said: 

"Perhaps  you  think  me  —  hopelessly  so."  And 
at  his  fervent  denial  she  gave  him  a  grateful  smile. 
"I'd  hate  to  bore  you,  Peter  Wells,"  she  confided, 
in  a  tone  that  thrilled  him  through  and  through. 
But  as  he  drew  close  to  her  she  added,  "Because, 
don't  you  see,  it's  my  business  not  to  bore  you.  It's 
my  business,"  she  went  on,  "to  make  all  the  friends 
for  China  I  can."  She  beamed  on  him.  "You're 
the  first,"  she  said;  and  then,  with  a  sigh,  "But 
China  needs  so  many." 

"So  that's  her  game !"  thought  Peter.  He  took 
her  that  night  to  a  roaring  farce,  and  laughed  in  a 
savage,  reckless  way  as  though  he  were  going  to 
the  dogs.  But  between  the  acts  she  was  suddenly 
so  very  intimate  and  small  and  altogether  appealing 
that  his  anger  melted  away.  Like  a  humble  ele 
phant,  he  tried  desperately  to  make  her  feel  how 
safe  and  gay  and  delightful  life  with  him  might  be 
some  day.  And  how  she  seemed  to  appreciate  every 
little  joke  he  made!  How  plainly  then  she  let  him 
see  that  she  thought  him  very  funny  and  dear! 

One  evening  not  long  afterward  she  took  him  into 
Chinatown,  and  in  a  little  theatre  they  sat  with 
Moon  Chao  between  them  watching  his  father  on 
the  stage.  Great  China  drew  close  to  them  that 


36  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

night.  Straining  to  catch  the  low  spoken  words  and 
understand  the  pantomime  and  the  weird  symbols  in 
the  scene,  Peter  felt  the  small  boy  beside  him  star 
ing  at  the  man  on  the  stage  —  worshipping  his  an 
cestor;  and  he  felt  the  dark-haired  girl  nearby  star 
ing  back  into  the  years  —  worshipping,  too. 

"What  hope  for  me?" 

But  from  that  communion  with  somebody  far 
away,  she  came  back  to  Peter  with  a  radiance  in 
her  face  which  he  soon  began  to  feel  was  for  him 
self.  It  was  as  though  with  her  ancestor  she  had 
at  last  made  up  her  mind.  And  she  was  so  frankly 
and  openly  happy  with  him  as  they  walked  home; 
she  talked  to  him  so  earnestly  of  what  his  life  in 
China  might  be  if  only  he  would  hold  to  his  plan  — 
that  Peter,  his  throat  tightening,  resolved  to  ask 
her  there  and  then.  He  was  slow,  and  he  felt  her 
holding  him  back,  as  though  she  were  pleading, 
"Not  just  now."  So  he  put  it  off  once  more.  But 
he  barely  slept  that  night.  The  next  day  in  school 
he  was  irritable,  making  the  most  savage  remarks 
to  many  astonished,  little  boys;  and,  catching  the 
curiosity  in  their  shrewd,  bright  eyes,  he  thought, 
"This  has  got  to  end!"  The  bell  rang  for  a  change 
of  classes.  On  an  impulse,  he  hurried  to  her  room 
and  drew  her  out  into  the  hall.  Peter's  big  face 
was  set  and  white. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  37 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "I  can't  stand  this!  Will 
you  —  will  you  marry  me?" 

"Yes!"  she  gasped. 

Back  she  went  to  her  room,  and  Peter  to  his.  And 
at  sight  of  him  the  shrewd  eyes  of  his  pupils  snapped 
with  interest.  But  Peter  took  no  notice  of  that, 
for  the  faces  of  these  urchins  and  all  other  sights 
and  sounds  had  receded  far  away,  and  he  was  sunk 
in  a  world  of  his  own,  dynamic  and  tumultuous,  with 
vistas  opening  over  the  earth  and  waves  of  a  feel 
ing  of  boundless  power  to  go  anywhere,  do,  see,  and 
feel  anything  under  the  sun  by  day  or  the  stars  by 
night.  Suddenly  he  saw  again  the  new  radiance  in 
Kate's  brown  eyes  —  and  Peter  was  seized  with  a 
feeling  of  humbleness,  of  tenderness. 

6. 

They  were  married  that  same  week.  The  Easter 
Vacation  had  just  begun,  and  before  it  was  over 
they  were  ensconced  in  a  little  apartment  on  Stuy- 
vesant  Square,  in  a  large,  old-fashioned  house.  The 
generous,  high-ceilinged  rooms  were  filled  with  ugly 
furniture.  Kate  got  rid  of  some  of  it  and  moved 
in  a  few  belongings  brought  many  years  ago  from 
Peking  —  a  queer,  old  table,  her  father's  chair,  a 
large  piece  of  rich  brocade  that  had  been  the  robe 


38  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

of  a  priest,  and  a  few  prints  in  blue  and  gold.  One 
was  of  a  towering  range  of  snowy  mountains;  an 
other  was  of  a  broad  river  teeming  with  the  life  of 
the  East.  And,  from  a  shadowy  corner,  a  huge, 
golden  Buddha  looked  out  on  the  new  life  in  this 
room  with  ageless  and  inscrutable  eyes. 

But  they  had  little  time  for  China  now.  They 
were  so  sure  of  going  there  that  they  happily  put 
the  thought  aside.  They  were  wholly  absorbed  in 
one  another,  in  the  discoveries  large  and  small,  the 
shocks  and  the  perplexities,  that  came  with  this  ad 
justing  of  two  lives  so  wide  apart.  How  different 
their  lives  had  been  Peter  had  never  realized.  Now, 
with  the  barriers  dropping  down,  and  this  warm, 
impulsive  girl  giving,  giving,  giving,  the  qualities  he 
had  not  known  and  would  never  really  understand 
loomed  rapidly  up.  He  came  upon  abrupt  dislikes, 
small  delicacies  and  restraints  and  sudden  revulsions 
in  this  girl,  who  at  twenty-two  was  so  mature  and 
yet  "such  a  kid,"  so  quick  to  change.  All  at  once, 
with  a  grim  dismay,  he  could  feel  the  barriers  rise 
again.  More  often  the  discovered  differences  would 
be  swept  aside  by  her  low,  rich  laugh. 

They  were  both  back  at  work  in  the  school.  They 
had  their  first  little  scene  over  that,  for,  with  the 
exultant  feeling  of  new  strength  which  had  come 
to  him,  Peter  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  the  earn 
ing  for  them  both.  But  when  he  asked  Kate  to 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  39 

give  up  her  job,  she  looked  at  him  with  a  surprised, 
indignant  flash,  as  though  demanding,  "What  kind 
of  a  man  is  this  that  I've  married?" 

"Oh  Peter,  dear,  you're  so  comic  at  times !  Don't 
you  know  that  I'm  going  to  teach  all  my  life?" 

"Of  course  you  are !  I  didn't  mean  that.  You'll 
teach  in  Peking  —  you'll  work  like  a  little  Trojan 
there.  But  I  want  to  give  you  time  to  study  and 
go  about  and  learn  all  you'll  need  to  know  for  that! 
Don't  you  see  what  I  mean  ?  This  day  school  job  — • 
you've  already  learned  from  it  all  you  can.  It's 
drudgery  now  and  nothing  else !  And  I  want  to  do 
that  for  both  of  us!  Can't  you  see  how  I  feel?" 

"Yes."  She  came  into  his  arms.  "And  can't 
you  see  how  I  feel?"  she  asked.  "I  want  to  earn 
my  own  living.  And  until  I'm  very  old  and  very 
decrepit,  Peter  dear,  I  shall  go  on  earning  it.  And 
that,"  she  added  smiling,  "is  one  of  the  very  many 
things  that  you  must  let  me  decide  for  myself." 
When  he  pressed  his  point,  she  cut  him  off.  "We'll 
earn  more  this  way,"  she  said,  "and  so  all  the 
sooner  get  to  Peking." 

So  every  morning  they  went  to  school.  In  the 
evenings  she  took  up  again  her  study  of  the  many 
things  she  wanted  to  know  for  their  work  in  the 
East.  And  before,  in  their  apartment,  the  newness 
and  the  fresh  delight  had  had  time  to  wear  away,  a 
novel  intimation  of  the  vast  dream  life  ahead  came 


40  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

into  their  home,  in  the  small,  round  person  of  Moon 
Chao. 

They  had  already  asked  the  little  boy  to  supper 
with  them  several  times,  had  feasted  him  and  petted 
iim  as  the  fellow  who  had  made  the  match;  and 
Kate  had  prevailed  on  his  father  to  let  him  come 
to  the  day  school,  where  she  had  him  in  her  class. 

But  late  one  afternoon  she  came  home  looking  so 
pale  and  anxious  that  Peter  asked  her  quickly, 

"What's  the  matter?    Where  have  you  been?" 

"Hunting  for  Moon  Chao !"  she  said.  "His  fa 
ther  is  dead !  He  was  killed  last  night  —  stabbed 
on  the  street  —  in  one  of  those  wretched  feuds  of 
the  Tongs!  I  didn't  learn  till  this  afternoon.  Moon 
wasn't  at  school  this  morning.  As  soon  as  I  learned, 
I  went  right  down  to  his  father's  rooms  —  then  to 
the  theatre  —  restaurants  —  every  place  I  could 
think  of !  It  was  no  use.  Nobody  knew  —  or  if 
they  did  they  wouldn't  tell  me.  Moon  has  gone! 
He's  terrified  probably,  poor  little  tike  —  think 
what  a  panic  he  must  be  in !  He  lived  alone  with 
his  father  —  he  has  no  other  relatives  here.  He's 
barely  nine  years  old,  Peter — and  he  saw  his 
father  stabbed!  And  now  he  thinks  they're  after 
him!" 

Peter  grabbed  his  hat  and  coat. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  said,  "I'll  find  him.     I'll  find 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  41 

him  if  it  takes  all  night.  You  get  some  rest  —  you 
look  played  out."  He  kissed  her. 

"Bring  him  here,"  she  said. 

With  a  truant  officer,  Peter  searched  Chinatown 
that  night,  and  they  found  Moon  Chao  in  a  six  cent 
"dump"  out  on  the  edge  of  the  quarter.  On  the 
top  floor  of  the  lodging  house  they  entered  a  long, 
stifling  room  with  tiers  of  bunks  on  either  side  all 
filled  with  ragged  sleepers.  Others  lay  snoring  on 
the  floor.  At  one  end  beside  the  stove,  an  old  man 
half  naked  was  attending  to  his  loathsome  sores. 
From  somewhere  behind  him,  Peter  heard  a  low, 
quavering  wail,  and  peering  into  the  corner  he  saw 
Moon  Chao  crouched  on  his  heels.  An  instant  later, 
with  a  bound  and  a  loud  sob  of  terror,  the  little  boy 
shot  past  them  through  the  door  and  down  the  stairs. 
Through  the  crooked,  crowded  streets  below  they 
chased  him,  but  lost  track  of  him.  The  search  went 
on  till  midnight.  Then  Peter  thought  of  the  thea 
tre.  They  went  there,  and  out  of  the  darkness 
heard  again  the  poignant  wail.  The  truant  officer 
struck  a  match  and  lighted  an  old  gas  jet,  and  pres 
ently  they  found  Moon  Chao  huddled  up  in  one 
of  the  seats.  Again  he  tried  to  get  away,  but  he 
was  too  exhausted  now.  Soon  Peter  had  him  in 
his  arms.  Their  questions  brought  no  answer  but 
a  stare  from  his  black  eyes,  fixed,  dilated,  bright 


42  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

with  fear.  But  later  that  night  in  Peter's  home, 
with  Kate  holding  him  in  her  arms  and  whispering 
to  him  in  Chinese,  Moon  Chao  began  to  whisper 
back,  looking  up  imploringly  into  her  face. 

"He  wants  to  go  back  to  China,"  she  said.  "He 
says  he  has  an  uncle  there  —  a  very  kind,  good 
uncle  —  in  Peking  or  Shanghai  —  he  isn't  sure 
which.  But  he's  begging  us  to  keep  him  here  and 
write  a  letter  —  perhaps  many  letters  —  and  find 
out  and  send  him  home." 

So  Moon  Chao  came  to  live  with  them.  Kate 
gave  him  a  vigorous  bath  that  day,  laughed  at  his 
protesting  squeals  and  loved  the  look  of  content 
that  came  on  his  haggard,  little  face  when  she  had 
tucked  him  into  their  bed.  Then  she  bought  him  a 
small,  blue  bed  of  his  own,  and  a  suit  of  clothes, 
and  underclothes  and  stockings.  "Give  him  a  hair 
cut?  Oh,  Peter!"  she  cried,  when  her  husband  sug 
gested  a  barber  shop.  She  carefully  dressed  his 
hair  herself,  in  a  sort  of  Chinese  style.  And  all 
this  time,  laughing,  petting,  mothering  him,  she  was 
getting  that  terror  out  of  his  eyes.  Each  morning 
after  breakfast,  they  went  to  school,  all  three  to 
gether;  and  often  in  the  afternoons  she  took  Moon 
Chao  about  to  the  shops.  An  overcoat,  then  books 
and  toys  —  she  found  so  much  to  buy  for  him. 
Recklessly  she  squandered  her  wealth.  In  return, 
as  the  weeks  wore  on,  he  became  her  adoring  slave. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  43 

"You  see,  Peter,"  she  said,  smiling,  "he's  more 
than  just  a  dear  little  boy.  He  has  all  China  back 
of  him." 

And  into  that  vast  background  he  began  to  give 
them  glimpses  now.  Uncanny,  strangely  silent  at 
times,  under  her  questioning  he  would  emerge  and 
would  try  hard  to  tell  her  all  he  could  remember  — 
the  way  his  uncle's  home  had  looked,  and  the  gar 
den,  his  uncle's  small  bazaar.  She  gleaned  what  in 
formation  she  could  and  sent  letters  to  Shanghai  and 
Peking.  But  Moon  had  been  only  six  years  old 
when  he  came  away  to  America,  and  his  recollec 
tions  were  all  mixed  with  lonely  imaginings  of  his 
own  and  things  his  father  had  told  him  —  of  his 
mother  and  their  home  in  Peking,  the  theatre  where 
his  father  played,  and  a  Chinese  school,  a  temple,  a 
big  painted  boat  on  a  river,  a  fish  he  had  caught, 
"so  great  as  myself,"  that  had  almost  pulled  him 
into  the  water. 

"And  then  I  would  have  gone  down  —  oh  down ! 
Oh  down,  oh  down,  oh  down!"  he  cried. 

"For  goodness  sake  stop  it,  Moon  Chao!" 
she  exclaimed.  "Or  you'll  hit  the  bottom!"  The 
small  boy  gave  her  a  roguish  smile. 

"And  then  I  would  bounce  from  that  bottom," 
he  said,  "up  out  of  the  water  —  into  the  sky!" 

These  glimpses  that  he  gave  them,  into  a  great 
country  and  a  very  little  boy,  took  hold  on  their 


44  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

affections  and  their  own  imaginings,  made  their  new 
home  unique  and  strange.  Moon  Chao  gravely 
playing  with  toys,  or  looking  intently  at  picture 
books  or  listening  to  stories  she  read,  would  seem 
to  retreat  into  far  distant  memories;  then  suddenly 
he  would  chuckle  or  laugh,  and  start  them  speculat 
ing  as  to  what  it  was  he  considered  so  comic.  Why 
he  laughed  —  this  was  only  one  of  the  enigmas. 
He  was  stormy  in  his  love;  and,  when  she  failed  to 
understand  something  he  was  trying  to  say,  there 
would  be  irruptions  of  raging  impatience,  fits  of 
despair. 

"All  Chinese  children  aren't  like  this,"  she  told 
Peter  earnestly.  "Far  from  it.  I've  seen  them 
playing  —  on  the  streets  and  in  the  fields  —  just 
perfectly  natural  little  boys.  But  Moon  —  it's  not 
only  his  tragedy  and  his  being  so  far  away  from 
everything  he  was  used  to  —  I  think  it's  his  actor 
father,  too,  who  was  a  genius  in  his  way — and 
Moon  is  like  him,  he  is  that  kind.  If  he  hasn't  any 
relatives  left,  or  our  letters  fail  to  find  them,  we'll 
keep  him  —  won't  we,  Peter  —  and  take  him  with 
us  to  Peking.  Think  what  he'll  mean  to  us  —  all 
our  lives  —  because  he  came  to  us  just  now  —  when 
we're  so  very  happy,  dear!" 

When  a  few  months  later  she  learned  that  she 
was  to  have  a  child  of  her  own,  she  kept  Moon  Chao 
in  her  new  broodings,  plans  and  dreams  for  their 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  45 

life  in  the  East.  They  would  adopt  him  as  their 
own.  .  .  .  And  so  it  was  with  a  shock  of  dismay 
that  they  read  the  letter  which  came  at  last  from 
China  bidding  them  send  him  home.  The  uncle  had 
proved  to  be  real,  after  all,  and  one  of  her  letters 
had  reached  him.  He  was  a  merchant  in  Peking  — 
not  rich,  but  comfortably  off,  and  anxious  to  take  his 
brother's  child.  He  sent  a  money  order  for  the 
ticket  to  San  Francisco,  where  Moon  was  to  be  met 
at  the  train  by  an  agent  of  his  uncle's  and  placed 
safely  on  the  boat. 

As  they  began  to  realize  what  the  loss  of  Moon 
Chao  would  mean,  a  feeling  of  emptiness  came  to 
them  both,  as  though  the  warm,  fresh  wonder  of 
that  opening  year  together  had  been  suddenly 
chilled  and  dimmed.  Moon  Chao  had  become  so  a 
part  of  that. 

When  they  told  him,  he  was  very  still. 

"Yes  —  I  go,"  he  said.  That  was  all.  No  tears 
or  kisses  or  regrets.  But  till  late  that  night,  as 
she  lay  awake,  Kate  could  hear  him  stirring  in  his 
bed,  could  feel  him  staring  up  into  the  dark. 

There  was  little  time  for  brooding.  To  catch 
the  boat  he  must  start  very  soon.  So  there  were 
last  purchases,  and  the  packing  of  a  small  trunk,  and 
the  ticket  to  buy,  and  anxious  plans  and  directions 
for  the  journey.  A  letter  was  to  be  pinned  to  his 
sleeve;  and  from  one  train  to  another,  all  across 


46  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

the   continent,   conductor   after  conductor  was   to 
hand  him  on.     When  the  time  for  his  departure 
came,  Kate  took  him  a  moment  in  her  arms. 
"Remember,  dear,  we're  coming,  too." 
As  Moon  looked  gravely  at  her  then,  his  lips 
began  to  tremble,  but  instantly  he  was  quiet  again* 
"Yes — you  shall  come,"  he  answered. 


Because  Kate  was  not  well  that  day,  it  was  Peter 
who  took  Moon  Chao  to  the  train.  Sitting  in  the 
waiting  room,  there  kept  drifting  through  his  mind 
fragments  of  those  memories  of  how  the  distant 
land  in  the  East  had  little  by  little  cast  its  spell 
upon  his  life,  and  he  wondered  how  it  would  end. 
Would  he  really  spend  his  days  in  China  ?  Suddenly 
the  whole  idea  seemed  fantastic  as  a  dream.  For 
there  swept  over  him  a  sense  of  what  he  had  been  a 
few  years  ago.  And  the  gap  was  too  prodigious! 
Even  his  marriage  seemed  unreal — till  the  small 
figure  at  his  side  brought  back  the  present.  Then 
he  let  his  huge  right  hand  drop  on  his  companion's 
shoulder. 

"We  shall  miss  you  very  much,  Moon  Chao." 

The  boy  looked  quickly  up,  then  down. 

"It  is  hard  for  me  to  leave  you,"  he  said,  very 
softly.  Peter  felt  a  tightening  in  his  throat.  But 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  47 

as  now  for  the  last  time  he  went  over  the  directions, 
Moon  Chao  nodded  quietly.  The  trip  did  not  seem 
to  frighten  him.  What  a  strange  little  boy !  "He'll 
get  along  all  right,"  Peter  thought.  uHalf  the  time 
he  will  barely  notice  the  train.  He'll  crawl  into 
himself  like  a  snail — into  his  own  imaginings.  I 
wonder  what  will  become  of  him?"  And  aloud  he 
asked,  "What  do  you  want  to  be,  Moon  Chao,  when 
you  grow  to  be  a  man?" 

The  small  boy  looked  up  at  him. 

"I  shall  try  to  be  a  great  actor — like  my  an 
cestors,"  he  softly  replied. 

For  a  moment  Peter  was  very  still. 

"Yes,  you  must  try,"  he  answered.  Then  he  be 
gan  to  tell  Moon  Chao  the  fable  which  Kate  had 
woven  around  her  father's  pregnant  phrase,  "We 
are  beggars  sitting  on  bags  of  gold." 

"An  old  beggar  lay  down  by  the  road.  He  was 
in  rags  and  covered  with  dust,  and  so  tired  and  so 
hungry  and  sick  that  he  rested  his  head  on  his 
beggar's  bag,  and  very  soon  he  fell  asleep.  In  his 
sleep  a  great  god  came  to  him.  'Look  in  your  bag/ 
he  whispered.  (It  is  not  rubbish  but  pure  gold!1 
The  old  man  woke  up  and  trembled.  Quickly  he 
seized  the  dirty  old  sack  and  jerked  it  open,  and  out 
on  the  ground  poured  a  torrent  of  gold  and  precious 
stones ! 

"That   is   China,"    Peter   ended,   with   his   arm 


48  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

around  Moon  Chao.  "And  that  is  yourself.  You 
must  never  forget.  No  matter  how  poor  your  life 
may  be,  you  must  be  proud — you  must  look  in — 
into  your  country,  into  yourself — and  always  you 
will  find  the  gold." 

"Always  I  will  find  the  gold!"  burst  in  a  whisper 
from  Moon  Chao.  Peter  saw  that  he  had  soared 
away  on  wings  of  fancy  to  the  East.  And  so  intense 
was  the  light  in  his  eyes,  that  a  wave  of  strange 
exultation  swept  into  the  spirit  of  Peter  Wells. 
"How  much  there  is  in  him!"  he  thought.  "How 
much  in  me,  in  all  of  us !  And  we  barely  ever  get  a 
gleam!  We  dare  not  look,  we  dare  not  know!'* 

From  somewhere  in  the  world  outside,  remote 
and  hard  and  commonplace,  a  rasping  nasal  voice 
announced  the  train  on  which  Moon  Chao  was  to 
begin  his  journey.  With  a  dazed  and  startled  look 
upon  his  heavy  sensitive  face,  Peter  pulled  himself 
together  and  took  his  companion  to  the  train,  settled 
him  in  his  Pullman  seat  and  talked  to  the  conductor. 
'That  tall  lean  official  said,  "Sure.  I'll  keep  an  eye 
on  him."  And  standing  a  little  later  beneath  the 
car  window,  Peter  in  his  fancy  saw  Moon  Chao 
being  handed  on  and  on  around  the  world,  an  atom 
in  torrents  of  human  beings,  serene,  inscrutable, 
with  his  own  life,  so  small,  so  immense,  all  hidden 
behind  those  shining  eyes  which  were  looking  down 
through  the  window  fixedly  at  Peter's  face. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  49 

Slowly  the  train  moved  out  of  the  station.  Peter 
walked  on  beside  the  car.  A  last  wave  of  his  hand, 
and  a  last  glimpse  of  the  round  little  face  pressed 
tight  to  the  window.  Then  it  vanished.  Moon 
Chao  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  II. 
i. 

THE  departure  of  Moon  Chao  left  Kate  a  little 
blue  and  depressed.  China  seemed  very  far 
away.  "How  will  it  be  with  us  now?"  she  asked 
herself,  that  evening.  She  had  a  premonition  of 
how  with  the  baby's  coming  the  burden  on  Peter 
would  increase.  She  herself  would  have  to  stop 
teaching,  and  expenses  would  mount  up.  She  stole 
an  anxious  glance  at  him  as  he  sat  with  his  pipe  and 
the  evening  paper.  They  had  been  married  barely 
a  year,  yet  already  she  understood  him  so  much 
better  than  he  did  himself.  "He  thinks  he's  terribly 
sorry  to  have  Moon  gone,"  she  reflected.  "Yet  part 
of  him  is  greatly  relieved  to  be  rid  of  Moon  Chao 
and  settled  down — right  here  in  New  York."  How 
he  loved  familiar  things;  how  slow  and  cautious 
he  could  be.  "Suppose  it  grows  on  him,"  she 
thought,  "in  spite  of  all  that  I  can  do,  and  he  goes 
on  and  on — right  here — getting  heavier  and  heav 
ier."  All  at  once  a  picture  came  to  her  of  a  Peter 
dull,  massive,  middle  aged;  and  she  felt  a  wave  of 
sharp  impatience.  Kate  was  only  twenty-three. 
She  felt  things  suddenly  like  that. 

50 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  51 

For  a  few  moments,  sewing  rapidly,  she  kept  her 
eyes  upon  her  work.  Then  in  a  swift  scrutiny  they 
went  back  to  her  husband's  face.  "Heavy,  stolid, 
dull?  Not  at  all !  That's  only  on  the  surface !"  she 
went  on,  in  an  eager  defense  of  this  man  to  whom 
she  felt  she  was  tied  for  life.  And  she  thought  of 
the  wistful,  hungry  Peter  beneath  the  crust  of  New 
England  reserve.  "That's  what  I  fell  in  love  with. 
He's  really  bubbling  over — with  fun  and  dreams 
and  oh  so  much — and  he  tries  so  hard  to  get  it  out. 
But  how  clumsy,  awkward,  sensitive  1"  That  was 
one  of  the  things  in  him  that  had  appealed  to  her 
from  the  start.  He  looked  so  enormously  tough, 
and  yet  was  so  defenseless.  Worries  could  drive 
in  on  him  so.  What  would  the  next  years  do  to 
him?  She  thought  of  his  crowded  class-room.  As 
a  teacher  herself,  she  knew  so  well  what  a  deadening 
strain  it  was.  "Shall  we  get  away  from  it  in  time?" 
But  as  quickly,  the  next  moment,  came  a  rush  of 
self-reproach.  "Shall  I  just  sit  back  and  criticize — • 
or  jump  in  and  help  him,  do  my  share,  and  see  this 
through?  Get  away  in  time?  Why  shouldn't  we? 
Go  to  Peking?  Of  course  we'll  go — and  before 
we're  many  years  older,  too !" 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile.  But,  behind 
his  paper,  Peter  was  plunged  in  thoughts  of  his 
own. 

"This  dream  of  hers,  of  going  to  China — what 


$2  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

will  come  of  it?"  he  asked.  "She  wants  it— yes. 
But  look  what  she  does.  This  little  Chinaman 
comes  along,  and  she  promptly  squanders  on  him 
half  of  all  the  money  weVe  saved,  though  she's 
soon  to  have  a  child  of  her  own."  He  recalled  the 
numberless  books,  toys,  games,  and  other  things, 
which  in  her  impulsive  way  she  had  kept  running 
out  to  buy.  And  he  loved  her  for  that  and  pitied 
her,  and  felt  protecting  and  mature.  "What  a  kid 
she  is,  after  all,"  he  thought,  "acting  on  her  im 
pulses.  But  there's  a  queer,  sharp  streak  in  her, 
too."  As  he  thought  of  that  impatience  in  Kate, 
and  then  of  her  warmth  and  youth  and  beauty,  with 
a  little  twinge  he  asked,  "What  can  she  see  in  a  man 
like  me?  Haven't  I  felt  from  the  word  'go'  that  it 
was  too  good  to  be  true,  all  this?  Suppose  she  sees 
that  China  dream  slipping,  slipping,  all  because  of 
marrying  me  and  having  a  baby — and  times  get  hard 
s — how  can  I  ever  make  her  happy?"  A  frown  of 
perplexity,  almost  dismay,  came  on  his  heavy,  sensi 
tive  face.  "I  will,  though — I'll  find  a  way.  A  way? 
No  hundreds — big  and  small!  That's  how  it  will 
be.  What  a  complicated  business  marriage  is,"  he 
ended.  "Here  I  was  a  year  ago,  free  to  do  as  I  liked, 
build  my  own  life — and  Kate,  the  same.  Now  all 
of  a  sudden — together!  How  it  changes  things!" 

He  felt  his  thoughts  lock  into  a  snarl.     Then  he 
glanced  up  and  met  her  smile;  and  he  could  feel 


BEGGARS*  GOLD  53 

himself  relax,  and  all  his  thinking  grew  clear  again. 
It  was  as  though  the  whole  last  year  had  risen  sud 
denly  crying,  ult's  sure!  There's  nothing  to  be 
afrafd  of  here!"  A  moment  in  silence  they  smiled 
at  each  other.  Back  went  their  thoughts  to  little 
Moon  Chao. 

"Don't  let's  ever  forget  him,  Peter,"  she  said. 
"He  means  so  much.  He's  that  part  of  us,  dear — 
he's  our  first  year,  our  starting  out.  And  we're 
going  to  keep  right  on,  you  know.  Aren't  we? 
Aren't  we?"  Out  came  her  hand.  He  took  it  in 
his  and  felt  it  tense  and  nervous,  challenging,  de 
manding. 

uYes,  Kate — we'll  keep  right  on!"  he  said. 

2. 

She  had  given  Moon  Chao  letters  to  mail  'back 
to  her  on  his  journey.  One  by  one  the  letters  came, 
and  her  anxiety  was  allayed.  She  pictured  him 
farther  and  farther  away.  Now  he  was  on  the 
ocean;  then  at  last  he  was  in  Peking,  and  a  letter 
arrived  from  his  uncle  thanking  them  for  what  they 
had  done. 

"If  you  come  to  China  as  you  have  planned,  we 
shall  be  happy,"  he  ended.  "For  we  need  such 
Americans  here." 

But,  in  the  months  that  followed,  the  thought  of 


>54  BEGGARS1  GOLD 

Moon  Chao  slipped  out  of  Kate's  life.  Now  she 
had  stopped  teaching;  and,  at  home  most  of  the 
day,  as  she  finished  baby  clothes,  more  and  more 
her  thinking  centered  on  the  child  to  be  born.  Peter 
was  quick  to  sense  the  change.  There  were  nights 
when  in  high  spirits  she  seemed  to  want  to  do 
nothing  but  make  fun  of  him,  love  him,  talk  and 
plan,  in  an  eager,  restless  happiness.  There  were 
times  when  she  was  sharp  and  cross,  wishing  only 
to  be  left  alone.  But  from  the  looks  that  came 
on  her  face,  he  caught  glimpses  now  and  then  into 
that  strange  Woman's  Land,  where  were  not  only 
brooding  intimations  on  the  life  unborn,  but  so 
many  memories,  too,  ties  in  a  subconscious  world 
with  all  she  had  ever  felt,  desired,  loved  or  hated. 
Such  elemental  forces  were  working  down  there  in 
the  dark.  One  night  he  pushed  a  heavy  chair 
against  the  golden  Buddha.  Down  it  came  with  a 
crashing  jar.  He  heard  a  quick  breath,  like  a  gasp, 
and  turning  saw  a  look  in  Kate's  eyes  as  though 
he  had  smashed  her  childhood.  The  next  moment 
she  burst  into  tears,  sobbing,  trembling  violently. 
Then,  at  his  penitent,  scared  expression,  she  laughed 
at  him  and  at  herself,  and  came  into  his  arms  and 
kissed  him.  He  felt  her  lips  warm  and  quivering; 
he  felt  her  whole  body  trembling  still.  The  big 
god  was  not  much  damaged,  and  with  gold  lacquer 
and  some  glue  they  soon  had  it  looking  as  before. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  55 

But  the  strangeness  in  her  was  always  there.    More 
and  more  she  slipped  away  from  him. 

Upon  the  night  when  the  child  was  born,  Peter 
sat  in  the  other  room  staring  straight  before  him, 
his  mind  a  blank,  till  all  at  once  from  its  shadowy 
corner  he  met  the  Buddha's  inscrutable  eyes.  That 
phrase  of  her  father's  flashed  into  his  mind:  "We 
are  beggars  sitting  on  bags  of  gold."  And  a  strange 
excitement  seized  him.  "How  little  we  know!"  It 
was  as  though  an  opening  door  had  given  him  just 
one  gleaming  look  down  into  the  vast  enigma  of 
life.  At  the  weird,  shrill  cry  that  broke  on  his 
ears,  he  grew  rigid  in  his  chair.  But  the  eyes  of 
the  great,  golden  god  were  as  inscrutable  as  before. 


As  he  noticed  the  relief  that  transfigured  her 
whole  face,  those  days,  Peter  cast  all  misgivings 
aside.  "This  is  all  good,  all  wonderful!  Now 
she'll  come  back  to  me!"  he  thought.  And  at  first 
it  happened  just  like  that.  As  they  bent  over  thcl 
tiny  girl,  watching  the  little  jerks  of  her  arms  and^ 
contortions  of  her  features,  Peter  and  Kate  were 
a  happy  pair.  They  decided  to  call  her  Susanna. 
How  quickly  that  name  became  familiar;  how  soon 
she  fitted  into  their  lives.  Kate's  strength  returned 
so  rapidly  that  within  a  few  days  she  dismissed 


56  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

the  nurse  and  began  to  take  care  of  the  baby  her 
self,  in  addition  to  doing  the  housework. 

Then  Peter  coming  home  one  night  found  her  in 
bed  with  a  fever.  In  alarm,  he  ran  for  the  doctor; 
and  so  began  a  period  of  such  anxiety  and  strain 
as  he  had  never  dreamed  of.  Her  heart,  it  seemed, 
had  never  been  strong,  and  serious  damage  had 
been  done.  Night  after  night  Peter  told  himself, 
"It's  nip  and  tuck — just  touch  and  go!"  Haggard, 
flushed,  unconscious,  rousing  to  delirium,  seeing 
things  he  could  not  see,  deep  engrossed  in  a  world 
of  her  own,  muttering  and  clenching  her  fists — this 
older,  stronger,  stranger  woman,  whom  he  did  not 
know,  doggedly  fought  to  keep  alive.  And  he 
could  feel  her  winning.  At  last  one  day  she  looked 
up  at  him  with  tired,  clear  and  smiling  eyes. 

"Well,  dearie,  here  I  am  again." 

Peter  bent  clumsily,  took  her  hand  and  pressed 
it  hungrily  to  his  lips. 

"Now  stay  here!"  he  whispered.  "Don't  let's 
take  any  more  fool  chances  I  Just  be  quiet — for 
God's  sake!  Just — just  go  to  sleep!"  he  implored. 
And  with  a  weak  little  twitch  of  amusement  she  did 
as  he  asked.  Peter  felt  weary,  beaten,  broken,  as 
though  he  had  been  through  a  mill.  "This  is  mar 
riage  and  a  baby!"  he  thought.  "Just  the  begin 
ning!  Now  what  next?"  Little  Susanna  loomed 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  57 

immense,  crowding  out  everything  else  from  their 
home.  After  a  month  of  convalescence,  Kate  was 
up  again  at  last;  but  her  illness  had  struck  deep. 

"Your  heart  will  never  be  the  same,"  the  physi 
cian  warned  her,  "and  on  no  account  must  you  ever 
risk  having  another  child."  With  a  kind  of  angry 
quiet  she  faced  the  situation.  "I'm  not  going  to 
-be  an  invalid!  And,  if  this  is  my  only  child,  she's 
,going  to  have  everything  that  I  can  give  her!"  she 
resolved.  "I've  got  the  other  work  besides — cook 
ing,  washing,  cleaning.  All  right,  why  not?  Most 
women  have  to."  And  she  settled  down  to  work. 

Peter,  in  the  meantime,  was  having  worries  of 
his  own.  Their  money  was  spent  and  they  were 
in  debt.  Moon  Chao  and  China,  utterly  gone  !  One 
after  the  other  the  bills  came  in,  from  the  doctor, 
the  nurse,  the  druggist,  milkman,  grocer,  butcher, 
and  a  small  florist  down  the  street.  "The  damned 
robbers!"  Peter  thought,  but  as  he  went  over  the 
items  he  found  that  they  were  all  correct.  Grad 
ually  he  remembered  now  how  through  that  long 
nightmare  he  had  kept  rushing  out  to  buy  some 
little  extra  thing  that  might  just  possibly  help  a  bit. 
In  dismay  he  looked  back  as  into  a  fog  and  asked 
himself,  "What  else  did  I  buy?"  Guiltily  he  strove 
to  hide  this  ominous  evidence  from  his  wife,  but  she 
found  him  out  and  scolded  him. 


'58  BEGGARS1  GOLD 

"Now,  Peter,"  she  ended  firmly.  "You  poor 
comic  business  man,  go  back  to  your  school  where 
you  belong,  and  leave  this  part  of  it  to  me." 

Humbly  he  obeyed  her;  and,  in  the  weeks  that 
followed,  he  discovered  with  relief  that  after  many 
experiments  Kate  was  working  out  a  way  to  take 
care  of  her  baby  and  her  home  without  overtaxing 
her  strength.  But  it  took  all  the  strength  she  had, 
and  more  and  more  he  could  feel  her  centering  on 
their  little  girl.  When  he  came  home  in  the  even 
ing,  he  found  an  absent-minded  wife  who  tried  to 
put  her  worries  aside  and  talk  to  him,  but  whose 
anxious  mind  was  always  in  the  other  room.  More 
bills  came  in,  kept  piling  up,  for  she  could  not  keep 
expenses  down. 

So  Peter  went  back  to  his  night-school  work. 
There  in  his  classes,  as  time  went  on,  he  found  a 
few  so  impatient  to  learn  that  they  were  willing  to 
pay  him  for  tutoring  in  their  tenement  homes.  He 
added  this  to  his  evening  work  and  did  not  get  home 
till  twelve  o'clock.  Peter  was  as  strong  as  a  bull, 
and  so  he  did  not  feel  the  strain,  but  he  was  soon 
heartily  sick  of  the  job.  These  foreigners  had  long 
ago  lost  all  spice  of  novelty.  It  seemed  as  though 
every  pupil  he  had — Russian,  Pole,  Roumanian  or 
Hungarian — was  a  Jew.  Some  of  them  appealed 
to  him.  A  friendly,  decent,  likable  lot,  they  would 
talk  of  the  life  they  had  left  behind  in  queer  old 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  59 

cities  and  somber  towns,  and  Peter  would  listen 
with  some  degree  of  his  old  interest  and  delight. 
But  more  kept  strictly  to  the  job,  to  squeeze  out  of 
him  all  they  could  in  the  way  of  an  education.  They 
were  so  rabid  to  get  on,  and  so  much  brighter  than 
himself.  He  had  thought  that  Jews  wanted  noth 
ing  but  money.  "Well,  I  was  wrong,"  he  decided 
grimly.  "What  they  want  is  to  gather  in  every 
thing  that  has  ever  been  learned — everything  that 
has  ever  been  seen — or  heard  or  felt — since  time 
began!  And  what's  more,  they're  going  to  get  it, 
too !  They'll  own  the  whole  city  before  they  get 
through;  and,  my  God,  what  a  cultured  town  it'll 
be!" 

Compared  to  these  keen  foreigners,  how  dull  and 
slow  he  felt  at  times.  What  chance  had  he  to  get 
on  in  New  York,  or  even  to  get  away  from  the  town? 
China?  It  might  as  well  have  been  Mars!  How 
completely,  he  reflected,  Kate  had  put  it  out  of 
her  thoughts.  Impulsive  and  impatient  still,  she 
was  often  cross  and  irritable  with  him  for  the  many 
mistakes  he  made  from  an  over-anxiety  to  help. 
"Oh,  Peter,  please  don't  interfere!  If  you'd  only 
leave  me  alone!"  she  would  cry.  Then  she  would 
grow  repentant;  and  in  those  smooth,  blessed  weeks 
when  Susanna  was  steadily  gaining,  Kate  would 
praise  and  pity  him  for  the  way  he  stuck  to  the 
drudgery  which  she  knew  he  hated  so.  Soon  they 


60  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

would  be  out  of  debt.  She  would  bring  out  the 
old  books  and  maps  and  talk  of  going  to  Peking. 
And  later,  coming  into  his  arms  and  holding  him 
tight,  she  would  whisper, 

"Don't  give  up!  You're  doing  so  splendidly, 
Peter  dear!  We'll  get  through  all  this!  You'll 
see!" 

On  such  nights,  in  a  flash  he  realized  that  she 
was  the  same  girl  beneath — ardent,  thirsting,  dream 
ing  still.  And  memories  came  of  their  first  year. 
But  how  far  behind  it  seemed!  The  letters  that 
came  from  little  Moon  Chao  were  like  gleams  of 
a  distant  light.  Kate  had  welcomed  them  at  first 
and  had  written  long  letters  in  reply;  and,  as  she 
rapidly  set  down  the  curious  Chinese  characters 
which  she  had  learned  to  write  as  a  girl,  the  whole 
expression  of  her  face  had  changed.  But,  between 
such  messages,  the  intervals  had  soon  increased. 
And  so  it  had  been  with  her  China  Club.  In  the 
first  year  of  their  marriage,  she  had  invited  the  Club 
to  meet  here;  and  there  had  been  Chinese  suppers, 
weird  music,  recitations  by  the  father  of  Moon  Chao. 
But  since  the  birth  of  Susanna,  the  meetings  had 
never  been  the  same.  They  had  become  repressed 
affairs  of  low,  guarded  voices.  Susanna  asleep  was 
in  the  next  room.  Moreover,  she  was  so  often  ill, 
that  the  meetings  had  co  be  called  off.  At  last,  one 
Thursday  evening,  Peter  found  Kate  very  blue. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  61 

"The  Club  is  done  for,  Peter.  I've  had  to  call 
it  off  again.  And  this  time  will  finish  it." 

She  turned  and  went  into  the  bedroom,  as  Susan 
na's  wail  was  heard.  Peter  found  her  by  the  crib, 
mechanically  humming  a  lullaby,  with  the  tears  roll 
ing  down  her  cheeks.  She  smiled  and  whispered, 
"I'm  just  silly!  Don't  worry — please!  I'll  be  all 
right!"  And  she  went  to  bed.  But  later,  by  her 
side  in  the  dark,  he  thought  he  could  feel  her  rigid 
and  still,  her  mind  far  off  in  China,  communing  with 
her  ancestor. 

"What's  to  be  done  to  get  out  of  this?"  he  asked 
in  desperation.  Although  awake  till  nearly  dawn, 
he  could  think  of  no  solution.  But  the  rebellious 
Peter  inside  was  rising  now  in  gleams  of  wrath; 
and  a  few  nights  later  with  one  of  his  pupils  there 
came  a  sudden  explosion.  The  pupil  this  time  was 
not  a  Jew  but  an  Italian,  with  a  bull  neck,  thick,  red 
hair,  tough,  freckled  face,  and  omnivorous  eyes. 
Shrewd  as  any  Yankee  or  Jew  that  ever  cheated, 
tricked  or  lied,  this  chap  was  already  running  a 
thriving  business  in  cheap  cafes,  and  he  felt  the 
need  of  an  education  to  fit  him  for  his  new  station 
in  life.  Into  his  hour  with  Peter  he  tried  to  crowd 
not  only  reading  and  writing  but  American  history, 
geography,  arithmetic. 

"What  else  do  you  want  to  know?"  Peter  asked. 

"Ail,   all!"  his  pupil  cried.     "There  is  nothing 


62  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

that  I  will  not  learn !  Do  you  know  how  I  am  sure 
of  this?"  He  struck  his  head  with  a  huge,  freckled 
fist.  "It's  here !  I  can  feel  it,  all  inside !" 

"You  can,  eh."  Eyeing  the  man  with  a  keen 
dislike,  Peter  felt  with  a  shock  that  this  grasping 
brute  was  a  burlesque  upon  himself  and  his  own  mys 
terious  hunger.  He  closed  his  book  with  a  slam 
and  arose. 

"Not  for  fifty  cents, "  he  growled,  and  put  on  his 
hat  and  coat.  The  man  rushed  after  him,  wheed 
ling,  bargaining. 

"All  right,  all  right — sixty  cents.  Now  wait — 
be  sensible!  Seventy-five!" 

Peter  swung  'round  abruptly,  all  New  England 
back  of  him. 

"Not  for  a  hundred  dollars!  I  don't  like  you, 
and  I'm  through!" 

As  he  strode  wrathfully  into  the  hall,  he  heard 
the  man  behind  him  snarl  in  Italian  to  his  wife, 

"There's  an  Americano  who  will  never  get  on  in 
life!" 

"Won't,  eh?"  With  grim  satisfaction  Peter 
went  down  the  rickety  stairs  and  out  of  the  garlic 
smelling  house.  "I'm  through  with  'em,  these  for 
eigners,  and  all  the  languages  they  speak — all  they 
want  or  think  or  feel!  If  that's  the  only  way  to 
get  on,  I  don't  want  to  get  on!  I'm  sick  of  it! 
Peace  and  quiet  is  what  I  want,  and  by  George  I 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  63 

mean  to  have  it,  too !  And  a  chance  to  study,  read 
and  learn!  I  don't  propose  to  let  these  fellows 
monopolize  me  for  the  rest  of  my  life !"  A  tempt 
ing  picture  came  to  him.  How  he  would  like  to 
dynamite  the  whole  city  of  New  York!  "Just  blow 
it  all  to  smithereens — and  fill  the  sky  with  for 
eigners — little  wriggling  foreigners!" 

But  at  home,  as  he  lit  his  pipe  and  looked  through 
the  unpaid  bills,  little  by  little  Peter's  wrath  changed 
into  uneasiness.  Kate  and  Susanna  were  asleep; 
he  could  feel  their  presence  in  the  next  room;  and 
there  was  in  the  very  atmosphere  something  that 
made  him  anxious  now.  For  he  had  grown  to  love 
it  here — all  the  more  because  he  could  be  here  so 
little.  Again  a  wave  of  exasperation  went  through 
him  as  he  thought  how  happ^  they  could  be  if  this 
damned  money  trouble  were  solved. 

"All  right,  then,  how  am  I  going  to  do  it?"  For 
a  long  time,  puffing  his  pipe,  he  racked  his  brains 
for  an  idea.  At  last  he  had  a  glimmer  of  hope. 
"I'll  go  and  see  Dillingham,"  he  thought. 


John  Dillingham  was  his  chief  at  school.  A 
short,  stoop-shouldered,  rugged  man,  grown  gray 
in  a  service  of  twenty-odd  years,  his  mind  unlike 
those  of  some  of  his  colleagues  had  kept  surprisingly 


64  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

open  and  welcoming  to  new  ideas.  He  had  taken 
a  lively  interest  in  Kate  and  in  her  China  Club.  She 
had  been  one  of  his  favorite  teachers.  "How  are 
Kate  and  the  baby?"  he  asked;  and,  as  he  drew  out 
of  Peter  some  idea  of  the  change  of  their  lives,  over 
his  face  came  a  look  of  regret,  and  then  of  curiosity. 
Peter  had  interested  him  from  the  start.  A  queer 
combination,  this  bird  from  up-State,  with  his  pas 
sion  for  foreign  languages. 

"What's  your  plan  for  getting  out  of  this  rut?" 
Dillingham  asked  abruptly. 

"Promotion,"  Peter  answered. 

"Think  you  can  pass  the  examinations?" 

"That's  just  what  I  want  to  know  about,"  said 
Peter,  and  he  reddened  a  bit.  "The  fact  is,"  he 
blurted,  "I've  never  thought  of  it  till  now.  WeVe 
had  our  minds  so  set  on  Peking — thought  we'd  get 
off  in  a  year  or  two.  And  we  would  have,  too,  if 
it  hadn't  been " 

"For  the  baby,"  Dillingham  cut  in.  "I  know- 
life's  queer — goes  just  like  that.  And  it's  the  finest 
thing  in  the  world,  unless  you  let  the  jolts  it  gives 
tip  you  over  on  your  back.  If  I  were  you,  I'd  never 
give  up  that  trip  to  China.  It  may  be  the  biggest 
thing  in  your  lives." 

"I'm  not  giving  it  up,"  said  Peter.  "We'll  get 
out  of  this " 

"But  look  here!"  his  chief  interrupted.     "Have 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  6g\ 

you  ever  stopped  to  think  of  this  school — and  the 
two  thousand  kids  that  are  in  it — and  me?'*  Peter 
looked  blank;  Dillingham,  grim.  "Seems  some 
times,"  he  continued,  uas  though  every  teacher  in 
the  place  were  thinking  of  nothing  but  getting  out. 
Why  not  look  around  you  and  see  what's  here — see 
if  you  can't  get  a  little  pleasure  out  of  this  vale  of 
tears?  You  want  promotion,  and  you're  right — 
and  I  can  see  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  make  the 
8  B  grade.  But  try  to  get  over  this  idea  that  the 
whole  job  is  drudgery!  Why  not  put  in  your  hard 
est  licks  on  history  and  geography?  You're  strong 
there — I've  watched  your  work.  So  I  say  go  on 
and  pass  your  exams,  and  get  promotion  with  higher 
pay,  quit  this  infernal  tutoring,  put  in  all  your  extra 
time  on  these  two  subjects  you  like  best — and  then 
it  may  astonish  you,  how  your  work  will  fill  your 
life!  And  don't  forget,"  he  added,  "that  I'm  right 
here  to  help  you — always — all  I  can!" 

"Thanks !"  said  Peter.  Their  talk  that  day  acted 
like  a  tonic;  and,  before  he  had  time  to  lose  the 
effect,  he  had  added  a  little  spice  by  his  next  deter 
mination,  which  was,  "I'll  tackle  this  job  all  alone, 
and  give  Kate  the  surprise  of  her  young  life !  She 
thinks  I'm  pretty  heavy  and  slow.  All  right,  I'll 
show  her  what  I  can  do!"  He  put  in  every  hour 
he  could  spare  in  work  for  those  examinations.  He 
cut  down  his  sleep  to  four  hours  a  night;  he  hid  the 


66  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

books  that  he  brought  home,  and  exulted  in  his 
secret.  Then  came  a  long,  hot  day  in  June,  a  day 
of  anxious  straining  to  answer  all  the  questions 
asked;  and  then  a  morning  late  in  July  when  at 
breakfast  he  tore  open  a  letter,  glanced  at  it  and 
gave  a  laugh  and  tossed  it  over  to  his  wife.  What 
blank  astonishment  on  her  face ! 

"Peter!  You're  promoted!"  she  cried.  Still 
laughing  in  low  husky  tones,  he  had  risen  and  was 
walking  the  floor.  "What  do  you  mean,"  she  de 
manded,  "by  doing  all  this  without  letting  me 
know?"  His  reply  .was  incoherent : 

"Oh,  I  just — just  wanted  to  see  if  I — couldn't 
cheer  you  up  a  bit!"  Again  that  husky,  shaky 
laugh.  "Damned  discouraging  for  a  woman — tied 
for  life  to  a  dub  like  me — who  never  gets  on — so  I 
thought  I'd  try!  I — I've  worked  like  the  devil, 
Kate !  If  I'd  failed,  I  don't  know  what  I'd  have 
done!" 

"You  old  darling!"  With  quick  tears  in  her 
eyes,  she  laughed  and  kissed  him.  For  a  time  they 
talked  in  a  jubilant,  senseless  way,  and  came  out  of 
that  with  the  sobering  thought  that  his  salary  would 
be  raised  only  some  forty  dollars  a  month. 

"Never  mind,"  she  cried,  "it's  a  starter — and 
goodness  only  knows  where  we'll  stop!  Besides, 
the  wretched  bills  are  paid,  so  you  can  drop  this 
tutoring!  And — oh  Peter,  I'm  so  proud  of  you  !" 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  67 

5- 

That  summer  he  took  Kate  and  Susanna  up  to 
the  Berkshires  for  a  month,  to  visit  his  uncle  in 
Pearly  Gates.  Peter  had  not  been  home  in  years, 
and  now  in  his  uncle's  home  his  satisfaction  with 
himself  for  his  recent  achievement  was  shaken  a 
bit.  So  many  memories  rushed  back,  came  at  him 
from  all  over  the  place,  demanding,  "Have  you 
gone  so  far?  Is  this  all  that's  to  come  of  those 
dreams  you  had?"  And  there  was  compassion  and 
regret  in  Peter  as  he  noticed  how  his  uncle  Bill  had 
changed.  Bill  Gowdy  at  last  had  suffered  defeat; 
the  post  office  had  been  moved  to  the  store  of  his 
rival  down  the  street;  and  his  principal  hold  on  the 
world  outside  was  broken.  Retiring  into  himself, 
he  had  lived  with  his  stamps  and  his  daily  chores,  a 
lonely,  surly,  dark,  old  man.  Their  coming  seemed 
to  wake  him  up,  and  his  slowly  deepening  delight  in 
Kate  and  Susanna  held  a  deal  of  pathos.  He  was 
so  plainly  anxious  to  please  them  and  to  keep  them 
here. 

"You're  a  lucky  fellow,"  he  said  to  Peter.  "What 
a  chance  you  got  to  live!" 

He  loved  to  talk  of  China  to  Kate,  his  questions 
seemed  to  have  no  end.  He  brought  out  his  stamps; 
and,  when  she  caught  the  romance  that  was  in 
them,  it  warmed  the  cockles  of  his  heart.  While 


68  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

she  talked  of  Peking  and  her  childhood,  he  sat 
watching  her  with  gleaming  eyes,  now  and  then 
sharply  nodding  his  head. 

"You  go  there — go  there!"  he  implored.  ''Don't 
be  held  back  by  nuthin'  on  earth!  Don't  let  your 
selves  get  anchored  down!" 

"We  won't,"  she  answered.  "Oh,  we  won't! 
That's  just  what  we  are  working  for!" 

But,  as  she  went  on  to  explain  how  Peter's  pro 
motion  was  right  in  line  with  their  old  plan,  a  quiz 
zical  expression  came  on  William  Gowdy's  face. 

"I  used  to  say  that  of  my  post  office  job.  Look 
out — or  before  you  know  it,  you'll  be  stuck  in  a 
hole,  like  me — for  life.  .  .  .  For  life,"  he  repeated 
softly.  That  spark  of  the  old  rebel  in  Bill,  which 
had  flashed  up  for  a  moment,  was  gone.  He  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  a  tired  old  man.  And  a  chill 
struck  into  Peter  and  Kate. 

"Shall  we  ever  get  to  be  like  that?" 

6. 

It  was  the  next  autumn  in  New  York,  and  it  was 
Friday  evening.  Kate  was  putting  Susanna  to  bed, 
and  Peter  was  comfortably  ensconced  with  a  book 
on  South  America,  a  contented  expression  on  his 
face.  The  week's  work  was  over,  and  he  had  two 
long  days  to  himself.  No  more  tutoring  at  night. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  69 

Life  was  so  much  easier  now.  In  her  rich  voice 
with  its  slight  burr,  Kate  began  singing  a  cradle 
song;  and  Peter  glanced  up  listening. 

As  he  did  so,  he  heard  a  step  outside  and  saw  a 
letter  shoved  under  the  door.  A  moment  longer  he 
listened  to  Kate,  then  rose  and  picked  the  letter  up, 
and  gave  a  little  grunt  of  surprise  as  he  saw  the 
Chinese  stamp.  He  tore  it  open  and  read  it 
through,  his  features  slowly  tightening.  It  was 
from  the  uncle  of  Moon  Chao.  The  small  boy  had 
been  doing  splendidly,  and  the  uncle  expressed  again 
his  gratitude  for  the  time  when  they  had  saved  his 
nephew's  life. 

"I  am  not  a  wealthy  man,"  he  wrote,  "but,  as  the 
years  of  my  life  go  by,  more  and  more  do  I  feel 
two  things.  One  is  admiration  for  your  great  Amer 
ica.  The  other  is  our  need  of  schools  like  those  you 
have  in  your  country.  We  already  have  a  few 
schools  of  this  kind,  but  they  are  controlled  by  for 
eigners — while  our  native  Chinese  schools  cling  too 
closely  to  the  past.  So  with  a  few  of  my  old  friends, 
who  are  merchants  and  who  share  my  views,  I 
have  collected  promises  of  money  to  start  a  little 
school  that  shall  be  managed  on  new  lines.  My 
nephew  has  often  told  us  the  fable,  which  he  learned 
from  your  honored  wife,  of  the  beggar  and  the  bag 
of  gold.  The  school  must  have  a  faith  like  that 
in  China  and  her  future.  Will  you  come  and  be 


70  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

our  teacher?  Will  you  bring  your  wife  and  child 
and  make  your  home  in  China?  We  cannot  afford 
to  pay  you  well.  We  have  so  little  money.  But  I 
think  that  I  can  promise  you  one  hundred  dollars 
every  month — and  living  is  very  cheap  in  Peking. 
If  you  can  come,  we  shall  be  glad  to  pay  for  your 
ticket  from  New  York.  We  are  hoping  that  you 
can  come  very  soon,  for  unless  we  start  the  school 
this  year  I  am  fearful  my  friends  will  give  up  the 
plan." 

There  followed  more  expressions  of  gratitude  and 
friendliness,  but  Peter  barely  took  them  in.  Scat 
tered  visions  of  the  East  came  back  with  a  rush. 
He  went  to  the  bedroom. 

"Kate!"  he  called,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Oh  Peter!"  came  an  impatient  whisper.  "I  al 
most  had  Susanna  asleep !  What  is  it?"  She  came 
to  the  door.  Then,  as  she  caught  sight  of  his  face, 
"What's  the  matter?" 

"Nothing.     Read  this." 

And,  as  she  read,  he  watched  her. 

"Oh  Peter,  it's  the  chance  of  our  lives!" 

The  next  moment  she  threw  an  anxious  look  back 
into  the  bedroom.  She  frowned  and  read  the  letter 
again. 

"What  do  you  think?"  she  asked  him  slowly.  He 
stared  back  at  her. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  71 

"I  don't  know."  There  was  a  little  silence,  and 
then  she  said, 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  think  of  this  hard.  Wait 
till  I  get  Susanna  asleep."  She  went  back,  and  a 
moment  later  he  could  hear  the  lullaby.  But  there 
was  no  sleepiness  now  in  the  song,  and  so  the  small 
girl  stayed  wide  awake.  Over  and  over  the  song 
was  sung,  and  in  the  singing  Peter  could  feel,  now 
a  glad,  hungry  happiness,  and  again  a  sharp  misgiv 
ing.  And  the  long  talk  they  had  that  night  was  a 
struggle  between  these  two  emotions. 

Up  with  a  rush  came  the  hopes  and  plans  of  only 
three  brief  years  ago.  If  only  this  chance  had  come 
to  them  then,  how  quickly  they  would  have  taken  it ! 
As  they  talked,  unconsciously  they  drifted  back  to 
those  early  days  when  life  had  been  so  gloriously 
free  from  complications,  and  with  the  old  eager 
ness  they  faced  this  suddenly  opened  door,  looked 
through  it  into  a  land  of  dreams,  excited  hopes  and 
fascinations.  Peter  felt  the  East  again  grow  real 
and  close  as  his  wife  talked  on.  It  loomed  im 
mense  and  dazzling!  As  he  watched  her  animated 
face,  he  felt  how  both  had  suddenly  been  lifted  out 
of  the  daily  rut.  What  a  glorious  light  was  in  her 
eyes! 

Then  Susanna  woke  up  and  cried.  Kate  went  in 
to  her  again,  and  Peter  read  the  letter  carefully 


72  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

through  a  second  time.  "We  have  so  little  money. 
But  I  think  that  I  can  promise  you  one  hundred 
dollars  every  month. "  He  frowned.  "He  doesn't 
seem  very  sure  of  himself,  this  old  Chinaman,"  he 
thought.  "What  do  we  know  about  him?  Noth 
ing.  Suppose  he  doesn't  stick  to  the  plan?"  He 
read  slowly  on.  "We  shall  be  glad  to  pay  for  your 
ticket  from  New  York."  Not  tickets — ticket!  He 
looked  closely  to  make  sure.  No,  there  was  not  a 
sign  of  an  s.  "Then  we'll  have  to  pay  for  Kate's 
ticket  ourselves!"  He  got  the  old  timetables  and 
sailing  lists  and  figured  it  out.  It  would  come  to 
two  hundred  dollars  at  least.  Peter  got  his  check 
book.  He  had  a  little  over  a  hundred  dollars  in 
the  bank,  and  there  were  a  few  small  bills  to  be 
paid.  As  he  bent  over,  figuring,  Kate  came  out  of 
the  bedroom.  She  sat  down  limply  in  a  chair. 

"If  only  it  hadn't  come  just  now!"  she  said  in  a 
low,  strained  voice.  "Every  cold  that  she  takes 
seems  to  go  to  her  ears — and  they  have  such  mean 
winters  in  Peking!" 

Peter  watched  her  anxiously.  He  saw  the  old, 
tense,  worried  look  that  he  knew  so  well  come  on 
her  face.  He  felt  the  great  chance  slipping  away, 
and  he  blurted  out  in  a  desperate  tone, 

"You've  got  to  take  chances  in  this  life  if  you 
want  to  get  anything  worth  while !" 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  73 

She  shot  a  jealous  look  that  said,  "What  do  you 
care  for  Susanna?"  As  though  she  had  spoken, 
he  replied,  "I'm  not  forgetting  the  baby — but  how 
about  the  winters  here?  Aren't  they  as  bad  as  in 
Peking?" 

uNo,"  she  answered.  "And  besides,  I  know  the 
doctor  here,"  she  said.  Then  a  change  swept  over 
her  face.  "Oh  Peter!  I  want  to — I  want  to  go!" 
She  caught  sight  of  his  check  book.  "How  much 
have  we  in  the  bank?" 

"About   a  hundred  dollars." 

"Good — and  your  next  month's  salary.  We'd 
have  that  much  to  start  on  there." 

"No,  we  wouldn't.  It  would  cost  us  all  of  that 
to  get  to  China,"  he  replied;  and  he  read  that  part 
of  the  letter  aloud. 

"Then  we'd  have  nothing — not  a  cent!"  Kate 
stared  at  him  in  dismay.  "But  why  be  so  certain," 
she  asked,  "that  he  meant  to  pay  for  your  ticket 
alone?  It  may  have  been  just  a  slip,  a  mistake!" 

For  a  time  they  anxiously  discussed  whether  to 
write  and  ask  him.  "No,"  said  Peter  finally;  and 
she  sighed,  "Yes,  I  guess  you're  right."  There  was 
a  long  silence.  Peter,  rumpling  his  hair,  was  rest 
lessly  moving  about  the  room.  Kate  sat  thinking, 
very  still. 

"We  could  sell  our  furniture,  I  suppose."     In  a 


74  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

moment  she  added  decidedly,  "Yes,  that's  the  only 
thing  to  do!"  But  the  moment  he  felt  her  coming 
around,  Peter  himself  began  to  draw  back. 

"That  wouldn't  go  very  far,"  he  said. 

"How  do  you  know  it  wouldn't?  What  do  you 
know  about  life  over  there?  It's  cheap,  I  tell  you! 
And  besides,  there  are  a  few  clothes  and  things  I 
could  sell."  She  plunged  again  into  thoughts  of 
her  own. 

"If  only  I  were  sure,"  growled  Peter,  "that  I 
could  make  a  success  of  that  school."  The  Chinese 
that  he  had  learned  was  already  half  forgotten.  "It 
won't  be  easy,"  he  muttered.  He  caught  a  glance 
from  his  wife  that  said,  "How  terribly  cautious  he 
is!  Good  God!  If  I  were  only  a  man!"  He 
flushed.  "Not  that  I'm  afraid  of  putting  it  through 
in  the  long  run.  Hard  work  doesn't  scare  me — you 
ought  to  know  that.  But  suppose  it  takes  two  or 
three  years  before  I  can  show  any  real  results?  And 
suppose  this  little  group  of  Chinks,  and  their  faith 
and  their  money,  won't  last  that  long?  Then 
where'd  we  be?" 

"I  know I  know " 

"You  don't  know !  Woman  fashion,  you  haven't 
half  read  the  letter — I  mean  carefully!  Listen  to 
this!  'I  think  that  I  can  promise  you  one  hundred 
dollars  every  month.'  He  thinks  he  can." 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  75 

"These  Chinamen  are  honest,  dear,  they  never 
go  back  on  a  promise!"  she  cried. 

"But  he  doesn't  promise!     He  thinks  he  can!" 

"I  know I  know,"  she  answered. 

"And  there's  Susanna,"  Peter  said. 

"Oh,  don't  remind  me  of  Susanna !  I've  already 
given  her,  sitting  here,  every  sickness  under  the 
sun!"  She  was  thinking  now  of  babies'  milk,  and 
of  oil  stoves  and  bathrooms.  "Oh,  Peter,  I  don't 
see  how  we  can  go!" 

"We  won't  settle  it  yet,"  he  answered.  "There 
may  be  a  way.  If  there  is,  we'll  find  it."  She 
looked  at  him  wretchedly. 

"Oh,  if  only  Dad  were  alive !" 

"If  he  were,  he'd  tell  you  to  take  a  chance!" 
This  burst  from  the  hungry  Peter  beneath,  desper 
ately  rousing  to  the  fight.  And  the  struggle  began 
all  over  again — now  one,  now  the  other,  holding 
back. 

"Why  not  write  and  ask  if  they'll  wait  till 
spring?"  she  suggested. 

"He  says  he's  afraid  to  wait  that  long." 

"Why  shouldn't  he  wait,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

Their  talk  had  become  a  torment. 

"Peter,"  she  said  at  last,  wearily,  "it's  nearly 
two  o'clock.  Let's  sleep  on  it." 

But  they  could  not  sleep.     And  the  next  morning, 


76  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

Saturday,  haggard  and  worn,  they  went  at  it  again. 
Susanna,  a  sensitive,  little  mite,  soon  felt  the  tension 
in  their  voices;  and,  after  a  dozen  times  stopping 
her  play  and  gazing  at  her  parents  without  receiv 
ing  any  Attention,  she  began  to  be  fretful  and  cross; 
and  her  interruptions  made  discussion  hopeless. 

"It's  no  use,"  said  Kate  at  last.  "I'll  take 
her  out.  She  needs  the  air." 

Peter  made  the  rounds  that  day  of  many  steam 
ship  offices,  and  he  learned  that  since  three  years 
ago  the  prices  of  tickets  had  taken  a  jump.  The 
same  was  true  of  railroad  fares.  "That  almost 
settles  it,"  he  thought,  with  a  kind  of  grim  relief. 
But  when  he  and  Kate  got  together  again,  the  old 
longing  swept  up  in  them  both.  He  told  her  of  the 
higher  fares,  and  she  spoke  of  a  dressmaker's  bill 
which  she  had  forgotten  the  night  before. 

"How  can  we  ever  decide  this  right,  if  you  keep 
forgetting  things  like  that?"  Peter  cried  impatiently. 

"I'm  not  forgetting!" 

"How  do  I  know?  How  do  I  know  there  aren't 
other  bills?" 

In  an  instant  they  were  quarreling.  The  tears 
came  suddenly  in  Kate's  eyes. 

"Oh  Peter,  don't,  don't!  Here's  the  chance  of 
our  lives!  Think  what  we  were  getting  to  be! 
Just  middle  aged — just  settled  for  life!  I  don't 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  77 

blame  you,  I  blame  myself!  I've  let  myself  get 
narrow  and  small!  Oh  Peter — Peter!"  She  was 
in  his  arms;  he  held  her  close  and  said  huskily, 

"No — you're  not  to  blame,  Kate — it's  my  infer 
nal  slowness!  We  ought  to  have  been  there  long 
ago!  But  we'll  get  out  of  this — we'll  find  a  way! 
Let's  try  to  be  big  and  sensible,  and  look  at  it 
quietly." 

So  they  went  over  it  all  again,  and  they  both  tried 
to  steady  down;  but,  when  in  reading  the  letter 
Peter  tore  it  slightly,  she  cried,  "Look  out!"  as 
though  he  had  struck  her.  With  all  its  possibilities 
the  letter  was  sheer  magic  now.  Gathering  her 
memories,  Kate  was  eagerly  telling  him  of  the  sort 
of  little  Chinese  house  and  garden  they  might  live 
in.  Then  she  had  a  sudden  idea,  and  looked  at  him 
a  moment  in  silence. 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  do,"  she  said.  "It's 
funny  we  haven't  thought  of  it  before." 

"What's  that?" 

"You  must  go  first  alone." 

He  stared  at  her. 

"You  could  leave  me  a  little  money,"  she  said, 
"and  I  could  try  some  work  at  school." 

"You'll  do  no  such  thing!"  Peter  broke  in  harshly. 
"You're  not  strong  enough.  Have  you  forgotten 
what  the  doctor  told  you?" 


78  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

"Oh  rubbish !  I'm  as  well  as  you  are  now !  And 
besides,  you  might  be  able  to  send  a  part  of  your 
salary  home!" 

"Might,  might?  There  you  are  again!  Can't 
you  see  that  there's  nothing  certain  about  it?  Sup 
pose  I  failed — then  where'd  you  be?  And  I'd  feel 
that,  and  I'd  worry  to  death — not  only  about  my 
end  of  it  but  yours,  too!  I'd  never  be  sure  that 
you  were  all  right!  It  would  simply  double  our 
chances  of  trouble — me  over  there  and  you  over 
here — about  eight  thousand  miles  apart!" 

"But  other  people  do  it!"  she  cried.  "Look  at 
the  immigrants  in  New  York!  Almost  every  one 
of  them  leaves  his  family  behind!" 

"I'm  not  a  Jew!"  snapped  Peter. 

"They  love  their  families,  Peter." 

"I  tell  you  I'm  not  going  alone — Jew  or  no  Jew! 
And  the  minute  you  look  at  facts  as  they  are,  you'll 
agree  that  I  am  right.  How  the  devil  could  I  make 
a  start  over  there?  It's  been  you  we've  counted  on 
from  the  start — you  and  your  knowledge  of  Chinese 
— and  of  the  whole  country,  and  how  to  get  on. 
Send  me  traipsing  over  there  all  by  myself — to  teach 
a  lot  of  little  Chinks,  in  a  language  I  don't  even 
know?  What  do  you  think  I  am?  A  god?"  He 
marched  over  to  the  Buddha  in  the  corner  and  held 
out  his  hand.  "How  do  you  do?"  he  said  gravely. 
"We're  regular  fellahs,  you  and  1 1" 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  79 

"But  Peter!"  she  cried,  laughing.  "You  can 
speak  the  language — already  quite  a  little!  And 
you're  wonderful  at  that — and  with  my  help,  in  a 
month  or  two — and  another  month  on  the  journey, 
besides " 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  answered  wrathfully.  "All  I  need 
is  a  pigtail  and  a  dressing  gown !  They'd  take  me 
for  a  native  then!" 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  decidedly.  "I  know  just 
what  I'm  talking  about.  I've  been  there — I  know 
what  they  want — and  I  know  that  you  could  do  it. 
They  wouldn't  expect  too  much  at  first." 

"I  tell  you  I  won't  go  without  you!"  Peter's 
angry,  sharp  dismay  was  only  made  the  more  acute 
by  a  voice  from  deep  within  himself  that  cried, 
"Try  it — all  alone!"  Impatiently  he  shook  it  off 
and  laid  all  his  emphasis  on  how  he  would  worry 
over  there  for  Kate  and  Susanna  in  New  York. 

Nearly  all  that  night,  and  Sunday,  too,  they  kept 
trying  to  decide — tortured,  tempted,  giving  up,  then 
coming  back,  still  balancing.  And  this  was  repeated 
Monday  night.  At  last  she  said,  in  a  desperate 
way, 

"Now  Peter,  we've  talked  and  talked  till  we're 
sick!  We'll  never  be  any  better  able  to  decide  than 
now!  Let's  make  up  our  minds  one  way  or  the 
other!" 

"All  right." 


8o  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

"And  I  think  we'd  better  go!" 

"All  right,"  said  Peter.  She  looked  at  him,  drew 
a  resolute  breath. 

"And  that  you'd  better  go  first  alone."  A  mo 
ment  he  looked  back  at  her. 

"All  right."  He  saw  her  flinch  at  that.  -But  she 
added  sharply. 

"And  let's  write  the  letter  now!" 

"All  right."  He  sat  down,  and  with  her  help 
he  wrote  accepting  the  offer. 

"Now  mail  it — mail  it,  Peter!"  A  dangerous 
tension  was  in  her  voice.  "Mail  it  so  that  we  can't 
change!" 

She  almost  pushed  him  out  of  the  door.  As  he 
started  to  go  down  the  stairs,  he  stopped  abruptly, 
clenched  his  hands — for  he  heard  a  burst  of  sobs 
behind. 

"All  right,"  he  muttered  grimly. 

But  when  he  came  to  the  letter  box  down  on 
Second  Avenue,  he  stopped  again.  In  the  hard, 
brilliant  glare  of  light  on  the  broad  thoroughfare, 
laughing,  quarreling,  chattering,  the  crowds  swept 
by;  and  he  had  a  bleak  consciousness  of  being  ter 
ribly  alone.  "Who  cares  what  I  do,  or  where  I 
go?  Nobody  but  Kate.  How  she  broke  down, 
the  minute  that  I  left  the  room!  How  will  she 
ever  get  on  by  herself?"  Savagely  he  started  away, 
walking  rapidly  with  his  big  hands  clenched  tight 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  81 

and  cold  Li  his  overcoat  pockets.  "I  tell  you  she's 
right!  We've  done  thinking  enough!"  But  the 
pictures  came,  they  crowded  back.  Himself  in 
China — Kate  here  in  New  York.  "Suppose  I'm 
right  about  her  strength?  The  doctor  said  she'd 
never  be  strong!  Suppose  she  overworks  herself, 
gets  sick  and  dies?"  Cold  sweat  came  on  his  fore 
head.  He  went  into  a  cafe  and  had  a  cup  of 
coffee.  He  came  out  feeling  better;  and  as  he 
walked  on,  the  city,  his  home,  his  wife  and  child  and 
his  steady  job  had  never  seemed  so  desirable.  It 
fitted  him  so!  "I'm  that  sort  of  man!  Why  run 
off  to  something  I  don't  want,  when  what  I  do  want 
is  right  here?" 

It  was  late  when  he  entered  their  flat.  Kate  had 
gone  to  bed.  Wearily,  with  his  overcoat  on,  Peter 
sank  into  a  chair.  Presently  he  reached  for  his 
pipe.  How  he  loved  the  familiar  room  and  all  the 
life  that  had  been  here  since  Kate  and  he  moved 
into  it.  He  noticed  on  the  table  the  book  he  had 
been  reading  Friday  night  when  the  letter  came; 
and,  as  he  recalled  his  comfortable  anticipation  of 
a  week  end,  two  days  of  peace  and  quiet,  Peter  gave 
a  little  snort.  A  fine  week  end  they  had  made  of 
it!  But  his  indignation  was  soon  merged  in  the 
feeling  of  security  and  relief  that  was  fast  deepen 
ing  now.  The  stolid  Peter  of  every  day  was  getting 
hold  of  the  situation.  How  nicely  life  had  been 


82  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

working  out — Kate  and  Susanna  steadily  gaining 
both  in  health  and  happiness,  Peter  himself  by  good 
hard  work  winning  his  first  promotion  in  school. 

"And  why  the  devil,"  he  suddenly  asked,  "did  we 
forget,  in  all  this  talk,  that  we're  going  to  China 
anyhow?  It's  only  a  matter  of  a  few  years.  There'll 
be  other  chances — when  we're  good  and  ready,  too 
•—while  now  by  going  off  half  cocked  I  may  fail 
over  there  and  spoil  our  whole  lives!" 

"If  you  don't  go  now,  you  never  will!"  a  desper 
ate  voice  within  him  cried.  He  gave  another  angry 
snort,  frowned  and  got  up.  He  was  stiff  and  sore. 
The  room  was  getting  cold.  He  went  to  his  desk, 
tore  up  the  letter  he  was  to  have  mailed  and  wrote 
another  quickly.  His  hat  and  overcoat  were  still 
on.  He  went  out  and  mailed  the  letter,  came  back, 
undressed  and  went  to  bed. 


The  next  morning  he  awoke  with  a  start,  at  the 
sound  of  Susanna's  voice.  The  light  was  still  dim 
in  the  room,  but  the  little  girl  was  chattering.  For 
an  hour  he  lay  rigid  there.  Then,  as  the  light  grew 
stronger,  Kate  noticed  his  wide  open  eyes. 

"Did  you  mail  it?"  she  asked  abruptly.  A  mo 
ment  he  looked  back  at  her. 

uNo,"   he   said.     "I  wrote   another.     I   said   I 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  83 

couldn't  take  it  now,  but  that  later  if  they "  He 

stopped  short.  She  had  turned  away.  The  swift 
look  she  had  given  him  went  into  Peter  like  a  knife. 

"It's  not  too  late,"  he  heard  her  say.  "If  you 
want  to,  you  can  write  again." 

"It's  decided,  I  tell  you!"  he  replied.  Angrily 
he  dressed  himself,  gobbled  his  breakfast  and  went 
to  school. 

"Isn't  that  just  like  a  woman!"  Peter  thought 
indignantly.  "She  was  as  undecided  as  I — yet  she'll 
put  the  blame  for  this  all  on  me !  She  maneuvered 
and  maneuvered  till  she  got  it  just  this  way.  She 
put  the  whole  business  right  on  me!  I  was  to  be 
the  one  to  go !  I  was  to  write  the  letter !  I  was  to 
mail  it!  She  went  to  bed!  But  before  I  could  get 
out  of  the  flat  she  broke  down  and  let  me  hear  her 
sobs,  gave  me  them  to  take  along!"  But  later 
something  honest  and  blunt  in  Peter  rose  and  an 
swered,  "Yes,  but  when  all's  said  and  done  she 
was  the  one  who  did  decide,  she  did  try  to  shove  it 
through!"  He  pictured  her  at  home  that  day,  bit 
terly  disappointed.  Peter's  feeling  of  guilt  in 
creased,  and  several  times  the  question  came,  "Shall 
I  write  again  this  evening?"  His  suspense  and 
worry  grew,  and  it  was  with  a  poignant  dread  that 
he  came  into  their  flat  that  night. 

And  a  feeling  of  glad  surprise  and  a  little  disillu 
sionment,  too,  came  to  Peter  as  he  saw  the  expres- 


84  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

sion  on  Kate's  face.  For  he  found  her  looking  im 
mensely  relieved — as  though  some  danger  had  been 
faced  and  put  behind  them.  There  was  no  mistak 
ing  it  in  her  voice,  as  she  laughed  and  talked  about 
the  way  they  had  tormented  themselves. 

"I  don't  see  how  I  could  have  considered  it,  even 
for  a  moment!"  she  cried.  "I've  been  out  and 
bought  a  dear  little  frock  for  Susanna  to  make  up 
for  it — the  way  I  was  willing  to  risk  her  life,  on  a 
wild  goose  chase  around  the  world.  Thank  Heaven, 
you  had  sense  enough  to  see  it  and  change  the  letter 
in  time.  I  can't  think  what  possessed  me  to  urge 
it  so!" 

Whatever  had  possessed  her,  god  or  devil,  was 
now  gone ;  and  Peter  saw  the  same  sensible  practical 
mother  and  wife  that  had  run  his  home  a  week  ago, 
and  in  managing  to  make  ends  meet  had  grown  ut 
terly  engrossed  in  her  husband  and  her  child.  The 
letter  seemed  unreal  as  a  dream. 

uBut  it  could  have  been  real.  It  could  have  been 
the  beginning  of  such  different  lives,"  he  thought, 
with  a  last  little  twinge  of  regret.  He  wondered  if 
she  were  not  thinking  the  same,  and  whether  all  this 
glad  relief  were  not  simply  a  mask  she  had  put  on, 
to  hide  from  him  the  fact  that  he  had  had  his  first 
big  chance  for  the  fulfillment  of  their  dream,  and 
had  let  it  slip  away  from  him. 


CHAPTER  III. 
i. 

WHEN  again,  the  summer  following,  they  went 
up  to  Pearly  Gates  to  visit  William  Gowdy, 
Peter  rather  dreaded  what  his  sardonic  relative 
might  say  of  that  letter  episode.  But  when  he  spoke 
of  it  one  day,  his  uncle  turned  and  looked  away 
down  into  the  valley,  and  listened  in  silence  to  the 
end. 

"I'm  feelin'  pretty  old,  these  days,"  was  his  gruff, 
low  comment.  "Glad  that  you  and  Kate  and  Susan 
na  ain't  on  t'other  side  of  the  world.  Sorry  you 
missed  the  chance,  of  course — but  it  seems  to  run 
in  the  family.  We  want  things  an'  we  want  things 
— but  when  it  comes  to  takin'  a  chance,  what  small 
potatoes  most  of  us  be.  ...  That's  been  my  life," 
he  ended.  "Anyhow  I'm  glad  you're  here." 

There  was  something  very  appealing  in  the 
shaggy,  grey,  old  man  as  he  stared  down  into  the 
valley  then.  And  so  Kate  said  softly: 

"Oh  Uncle,  we're  so  happy  to  be  with  you  in  this 
dear  old  house." 

85 


86  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

From  that  day  on,  in  a  hungry  way,  as  though  he 
felt  it  might  be  his  last  opportunity,  Bill  Gowdy 
made  the  most  of  their  visit.  Susanna  was  nearly 
four  years  old,  and  he  liked  to  go  about  with  her  or 
sit  and  smoke  and  watch  her  play.  And  he  had  long 
talks  with  Peter  and  Kate,  talks  that  rambled  all 
over  the  earth. 

Into  these  talks  from  time  to  time  came  the  news 
of  our  brief  war  with  Spain.  From  the  day  of  the 
Rough  Riders'  charge,  early  in  the  summer,  old  Bill 
had  taken  a  keen  delight  in  Roosevelt's  rapid  rise  to 
fame. 

uThe  first  feller  I  ever  come  across  with  the  gump 
tion  in  him  to  break  away  from  everything  that  holds 
him  back,"  Bill  declared  emphatically.  "Look  at 
what  his  life  has  been.  To  begin  with,  he's  a  weak 
ling — sick  half  the  time.  So  what  does  he  do  ?  Sit 
down  and  whine  about  it?  No.  Goes  out  to  a  ranch 
in  the  West,  by  George,  and  gets  himself  as  strong 
as  a  bull.  It  was  a  case  of  kill  or  cure.  Then  back 
he  comes  into  New  York  an'  hits  it  like  the  Equinox 
— shakes  up  the  whole  Police  Force,  like  a  terrier 
with  a  rat.  Then  he  grabs  the  Civil  Service,  an'  the 
Navy  after  that — puts  teeth  in  'em  both !  Then  off 
to  Cuba!  Ginger!  Snap!  You  mark  my  words! 
There's  nuthin'  this  side  of  Kingdom  Come  that  can 
hold  that  young  man  down!" 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  87 

Just  before  Peter  went  back  to  the  city,  Roose 
velt  swung  up  through  the  State  on  his  campaign 
for  the  governorship.  Peter  and  his  uncle  heard 
him  speak  at  a  county  fair,  and  later  on  their  long 
drive  home  they  talked  excitedly  of  the  speech. 
Peter  had  been  thrilled  to  the  core  by  the  vitality 
of  the  man.  The  village  seemed  a  lonely  place  when 
they  came  back  to  it  that  night.  At  supper  with 
Kate  they  talked  of  the  speech,  but  Peter  could  feel 
Bill  Gowdy's  voice  grow  gruff  and  dull  with  sleepi 
ness,  and  he  himself  felt  drowsy,  too.  It  was  as 
though  they  had  both  been  charged  with  some  mys 
terious,  vital  force,  but  now  it  was  ebbing  fast  away. 
After  supper,  he  picked  up  a  book,  and  his  uncle 
went  out  to  the  barn,  which  was  just  across  the  road. 
Peter  heard  a  wagon  stop  outside,  but  he  went  on 
reading  drowsily.  Suddenly  the  door  flew  open  and 
Uncle  Bill  glared  into  the  room. 

"Come  on  out  here!"  he  whispered. 

"What's  happened?"  Peter  followed  him  out;  and 
there  by  the  light  of  a  lantern  he  saw  a  smiling,  scowl 
ing  face  that  made  him  give  a  violent  start. 

"Roosevelt!" 

"Yes !  Hello — hello !"  Leaning  out  of  the  moun 
tain  wagon,  genially  showing  his  teeth,  the  hero  of 
San  Juan  snapped  out,  "Any  newspaper  men  come 
through  this  way?" 


88  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"Then  they're  lost.    How  far  is  it  to  Danville?" 

"About  nine  miles." 

"By  George !  And  I  Ve  got  to  speak  there  at  eight 
o'clock!" 

In  a  daze  Peter  heard  the  rest  of  it.  One  of  the 
horses  had  gone  lame,  and  a  fresh  team  was  wanted. 
Bill  Gowdy  proudly  offered  his,  and  in  a  jiffy  Roose 
velt  was  making  with  Peter  for  the  barn.  Just  how 
together  they  got  out  the  team,  found  the  har 
ness  and  threw  it  on,  Peter  could  never  clearly  re 
call.  His  uncle  and  the  driver  had  unhitched  the 
other  team,  and  with  a  hearty  "Thank  you,  boys — » 
come  and  see  me  next  year  in  Albany!"  the  Colonel 
climbed  back  into  the  wagon.  A  wave  o^his  hand; 
and  the  wagon,  with  a  lantern  swinging  beneath, 
was  going  rapidly  down  the  road.  Quivering,  Peter 
stood  there  and  watched  the  receding  speck  of  light. 

He  felt  a  wave  of  restlessness  and  dissatisfaction 
with  himself.  "While  I  am  teaching  history,  here's 
a  man  who's  making  it!"  With  a  little  glow  he 
thought  how  he  would  tell  of  this  meeting  to  his  his 
tory  class  at  school.  But  then  the  deep,  deep  rest 
lessness  came  again  upon  him.  Suddenly  he  asked 
himself,  "I  wonder  if  I  couldn't  write  a  life  of  Roose 
velt — clear  and  simple — meant  for  toys?"  The 
name  of  Roosevelt  was  still  new;  no  such  book  had 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  89 

yet  appeared;  and  if  it  were  written  right  it  might 
find  its  way  into  thousands  of  schools,  East  and 
West,  all  over  the  land!  What  a  chance!  What 
doors  it  opened  wide !  Looking  back  over  his  life 
he  saw  that  in  those  two  favorite  subjects  of  his, 
history  and  geography,  what  he  had  always  hated 
was  the  classroom  drudgery.  Here  was  an  escape 
from  that,  a  chance  to  make  the  beginning  at  least 
of  a  name  as  a  biographer.  "Here's  what  I've  al 
ways  wanted  to  do !  To  write !"  he  thought  excitedly. 
As  he  turned  it  over  in  his  mind,  he  walked  slowly 
back  and  forth  on  the  road  between  the  house  and 
the  barn,  until  the  village  clock  struck  twelve. 

And  later,  as  he  got  into  bed,  Peter  was  rather 
proud  of  himself  for  having  walked  up  and  down 
so  long. 

He  tried  the  idea  the  next  day  on  his  wife.  Kate 
drew  a  quick  breath  and  said, 

"Oh  Peter!     I  wonder  if  you  could?" 

They  talked  little  else  for  the  next  few  days;  and, 
after  they  returned  to  New  York,  Peter  spent  his 
evenings  planning  the  book  and  piling  up  notes. 
Each  morning  brought  new  headlines  about  "the 
Colonel"  in  the  press — new  catch  words,  national 
ideals,  jokes  and  trenchant,  pointed  tales.  Hungrily 
Peter  gathered  them  in.  There  came  the  tingling 
memory  of  that  evening  in  the  barn.  And  when 


90  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

Roosevelt  was  elected,  Peter  and  Kate  had  a  jubil 
ant  night.  Somehow  they  felt  as  though  they  them 
selves  had  come  a  big  step  up  in  life. 


2. 

After  that,  the  work  on  the  book  slowed  down. 
All  through  the  following  winter  he  kept  gathering 
material,  but  he  had  to  do  most  of  his  work  at 
night,  when  he  was  already  tired  after  the  long  day 
in  school.  So  the  months  wore  slowly  on.  Kate  had 
given  up  asking  when  he  meant  to  start  his  book. 
"It  will  only  worry  him,"  she  thought.  Moreover, 
her  life  was  full  enough.  The  cost  of  living  was  up 
again,  and  she  could  barely  meet  the  bills.  Through 
their  old  friend,  Dillingham,  she  had  been  able  to 
get  Susanna  into  the  kindergarten  at  his  school. 
Kate  went  with  her  every  day;  and  Dillingham,  that 
autumn,  began  to  give  her  various  jobs,  paying 
her  out  of  a  private  fund  he  had  from  a  few  people 
up-town.  This  work  soon  made  a  difference.  She  be 
gan  to  be  a  little  late,  from  early  morning  until  night. 
Through  the  school,  she  was  rapidly  making  new 
friends,  and  she  often  asked  them  to  supper  now. 
People  liked  her  and  she  knew  it;  and  with  keen 
amusement  she  saw  how  at  first  putting  Peter  down 
as  dull,  they  came  to  see  their  mistake. 

So  Kate's  crowded  life  went  on.     Several  times 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  91 

that  winter,  she  had  little  breakdowns,  but  she  man 
aged  to  pull  through  without  a  doctor.  She  kept 
Susanna  at  home,  those  days,  and  they  had  fine  times 
when  Kate  was  sick,  treating  it  all  as  a  capital  joke. 

Then  in  March,  after  a  long  stretch  of  wet,  beast 
ly  weather,  Susanna  caught  an  ugly  cold.  It  went  to 
her  ears  and  within  a  few  days  both  mastoids  were 
affected.  An  operation  saved  her  life;  but,  when  at 
last  the  danger  was  past,  Kate  crumpled  up  one  eve 
ning,  and  was  in  bed  for  over  a  month.  Once  more, 
when  she  got  up  again,  she  tried  to  go  on  with  her 
work  at  school.  But  Peter  put  an  end  to  it.  Back 
to  the  doctor  he  made  her  go. 

"No  use,  Mrs.  Wells.  I'm  sorry,  but  your  heart 
won't  stand  it!"  that  gentleman  said  emphatically. 
With  a  hunted  look,  she  cried, 

"Then  I'll  make  a  heart  that  will!" 

"Good,"  he  replied.  "But  remember  that  doing 
all  your  housework  and  looking  after  a  delicate  child 
is  not  exactly  a  rest  cure." 

"I  don't  want  a  rest  cure!  I  want  a  good,  sane, 
common  sense,  work-and-will  cure!"  she  replied. 
"I'm  barely  twenty-eight  years  old !" 

The  next  two  years  were  one  long  fight  to  regain 
her  old  vitality.  Weeks  and  months  of  vigilance, 
looking  after  her  home  and  her  daughter,  planning 
her  day,  inventing  work-savers.  Slowly,  with  a  glad 
return  of  her  self-confidence,  she  could  feel  her 


92  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

strength  again.  Then  one  little  slip,  or  a  stretch  of 
bad  weather,  and  back  she  would  go.  At  such  times 
Peter  would  find  his  wife  passing  rapidly  from  fits 
of  blues  to  bursts  of  impatience  and  revolt. 

"Oh  I'm  sorry,  Peter — but  I  simply  won't  give 
in  and  make  up  my  mind  to  settle  down  as  the  invalid 
of  the  story-books — shedding  beams  of  resignation 
— uncomplaining — all  that  rot !  I  won't,  I  tell  you, 
and  I  can't!  I'm  bitter  about  it — just  plain  mad! 
Why  couldn't  my  mother  have  told  me  more  about 
having  babies — the  danger  of  getting  up  too  soon! 
I'm  bitter  about  it !  I  want  so  much !  We're  young, 
you  and  I,  with  our  lives  ahead — just  opening!  And 
I'm  hungry!  Do  you  know  what  a  beggar  really  is? 
Not  a  pauper — he's  too  far  gone  to  beg,  there's 
nothing  he  really  wants  enough!  A  beggar  is  a 
fellow  like  me — hungry,  hungry — and  held  back!" 
The  next  moment,  sobbing  violently  and  trembling, 
as  he  held  her  tight,  she  got  hold  of  herself,  and 
laughed  and  murmured,  "Oh  Peter,  you  poor  dear 
— what  a  wife!  But  give  me  time  and  you  will 
see!" 

So  the  struggle  went  on  again.  To  make  up  for 
the  money  Kate  had  earned,  and  which  they  sorely 
needed  now,  Peter  had  long  ago  gone  back  to  the 
night  work  he  hated  so;  and,  as  he  trudged  the  dirty 
streets,  often  worried  about  his  wife  and  anxious 
for  the  future,  perplexed  and  baffled  in  a  town  which 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  93 

was  now  all  harsh  and  guttural,  grasping,  rasping  on 
his  nerves — he  felt  his  whole  existence  narrow  to 
this  steady  grind,  and  "The  Boy's  Roosevelt"  slip 
away.  At  times,  as  he  read  in  the  news  of  the  day 
of  what  "the  Colonel"  was  up  to  now,  Peter  would 
grow  bitter  against  this  preacher  of  "the  strenuous 
life." 

"How  does  he  know  how  it  feels  to  be  like  me, 
walled  in  on  all  sides?  And  I  can't  break  through! 
I'm  the  plodding  kind — God  damn  it — I'm  slow!" 

And  he  could  see  no  light  ahead. 


Early  one  warm  evening  in  April,  1900,  climbing 
several  flights  of  stairs  in  a  dark,  old  tenement  and 
knocking  at  the  door  of  a  pupil,  he  got  no  answer, 
knocked  again  and  heard  a  strained,  sharp  voice  re 
ply  in  Yiddish, 

"Come  in!" 

Peter's  pupil,  a  young  Galician  Jew,  was  sitting 
with  his  head  in  his  hands  bowed  over  the  kitchen 
table/  He  glared  up  at  his  visitor;  then  down  went 
his  head  as  before.  "What  the  devil  is  wrong?" 
thought  Peter.  He  could  see  that  the  young  Galician 
was  quivering  from  head  to  foot.  Peter  had  never 
liked  the  lad.  He  called  himself  a  socialist,  and  was 
perfecting  his  English  in  order  to  speak  in  public; 


94  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

but  often,  forgetting  his  lesson  and  lapsing  into 
Yiddish,  he  would  thunder  oratorical  economics. 
Peter  took  little  stock  in  his  talk.  But  tonight,  as 
he  made  a  move  to  go,  he  heard  a  groan  from  the 
table. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  Peter  asked.  The 
other  looked  up. 

"My  wife!"  he  cried.     "She's  left  me!" 

"Has,  eh?"  Peter  remembered  her  now — a  pretty 
young  Jewess  getting  fat,  wearing  tight  corsets  and 
high  heeled  shoes.  "Where's  she  gone?"  he  asked. 
The  pupil  leaped  up  and  seized  his  arm. 

"I  will  show  you  where  she  is!"  And  in  spite 
of  Peter's  protestations  that  he  did  not  care  to  know, 
the  half-crazed  boy  insisted  on  taking  him  to  the 
window.  At  that  time  vice  was  advertised,  not  dis 
creetly,  as  today,  but  frankly  as  in  a  mining  camp. 
In  one  of  several  narrow,  dirty,  brownstone  buildings 
down  the  street,  all  the  rooms  were  lighted ;  at  some 
of  the  windows  the  shades  were  up,  and  a  group  of 
little  boys  outside  kept  eagerly  pointing  out  the 
sights. 

"That's  where  she  is!"  her  husband  said;  and  he 
burst  out  against  his  wife.  "She  was  always  kicking 
and  nagging  me  to  give  up  socialism,"  he  cried,  "and 
put  the  money  I  gave  to  the  Cause  into  hats  and 
clothes  for  her!  Last  week  she  wanted  a  new 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  95 

chemise!  Another  five  spot!  Y'understand?  The 
chemise  of  capitalism!  That's  what  gets  'em — glit 
ter  and  flash!  She  wanted  to  go  to  theatres  and 
bum  dances  every  night!  And  while  I  was  out  at 
night,  working  for  the  Party,  God  knows  what  she 
was  doing  here!  I  know — oy,  oy — I  know  damn 
well!  That  house  I  showed  you — y'understand? — 
she  never  got  there  all  at  a  jump !  She  couldn't — 
it's  too  rotten!  She  must  have  had  some  fellers 
first — got  used  to  it!  Y'understand?"  He  clutched 
his  head,  walked  up  and  down.  "Oy,  oy,  oy !  While 
I  was  working  for  great  ideas — the  freedom  of  the 
masses,  the  toiling  proletariate!" 

In  broken,  furious  phrases  he  went  on  to  picture 
how  he  had  worked  and  sacrificed.  Peter  gave  little 
heed  to  him  now,  he  was  looking  for  a  chance  to 
escape ;  but,  when  he  made  a  move  to  go,  the  young 
ster  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"Listen — you!"  He  jerked  Peter  around.  uYou 
ain't  listening — you're  just  letting  me  talk !  But  by 
God  I'll  make  you  listen!"  he  cried.  "I'll  make  you 
a  socialist  tonight!"  His  words  came  in  a  tor 
rent  now;  and  all  of  New  England  was  in  the  look 
of  grim  but  rather  startled  dislike  on  Peter's  heavy 
features. 

"You  are  a  teacher!"  the  youngster  cried.  "Well, 
what  can  you  teach  at  a  time  like  this?  Whose 


96  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

fault  was  it?  What  made  her  a  bitch?  Do  you 
know  ?  You  ought  to  know.  You're  paid  to  know  I" 
Peter  flushed  and  rose. 

"I'm  not  paid  such  a  lot,  young  man!"  The 
dark  face  of  the  boy  lit  up. 

"That's  just  if.!  You  ain't  paid  but  a  pittance! 
They  won't  let  you  have  the  time  and  money  to  study 
and  get  onto  the  lies  they  make  you  teach !  Do  I  say 
it's  your  fault?  Not  on  your  life!  I  know  you 
have  a  wife  and  kid,  and  sickness,  worry,  day  and 
night!  What  chance  you  got  to  study,  read,  make 
trips  to  Europe,  broaden  out?  Shouldn't  a  teacher 
have  all  that?  Shouldn't  he  be  like  the  high  priest  of 
the  whole  damn  bunch  of  us?  Don't  they  say  so  in 
all  their  talk  of  their  Holy-to-God  Democracy?  The 
school  is  the  foundation  stone !  They  shout  it  every 
Fourth  of  July!  You  bet  it  is,  and  they  know  it 
is!  They  know  the  whole  rotten  business  rests  on 
keeping  the  people  fooled  from  the  cradle  up.  So 
fool  the  kids !  Give  'em  beggars  for  teachers !  To 
support  your  family,  you've  got  to  run  around  nights 
doing  this,  when  you  ought  to  be  learning  to  open 
your  eyes !  You  don't  know  what  the  world  could 
be — not  even  what  you  could  be  yourself,  if  you 
only  had  a  chance !  The  blame  ain't  in  you  or  any 
of  us,  but  in  the  system!  Y'understand?  Just  give 
us  a  chance  an'  what  couldn't  we  be!  Oh  God! 
Don't  you  know?  Ain't  you  felt  it  inside?" 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  97 

"Yes — I've  felt  it,"  Peter  said,  with  suddenly 
arrested  eyes. 

"So  have  I !  It's  in  us  all!  But  under  this  rotten 
system  of  theirs  it  can't  come  up,  it's  all  kept  down ! 
Every  man  has  it — y'understand? — every  man  you 
see  on  the  street — no  matter  how  dirty  or  poor  he  is ! 
An'  don't  you  forget  it!  Believe  in  men!  Believe  in 
men — an'  it  will  come  out  of  'em!  Y'understand?" 

All  at  once  his  head  went  down  on  the  table, 
clutched  in  his  hands,  and  his  whole  thin  body  shook 
with  sobs.  Presently  Peter  laid  his  hand  on  the 
boy's  quivering  shoulder. 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Twenty-one!" 

"Where  are  your  friends?" 

"I  don't  want  any  friends !     I  want  to  die !" 

"Look  here,  son,"  said  Peter,  "you  come  right 
along  with  me." 

He  got  the  boy's  hat,  took  him  tight  by  the  arm 
and  led  him  down  into  the  street;  and,  questioning 
him  as  to  his  friends,  he  walked  the  young  radical 
up  town  to  a  small  brick  house  on  a  quiet  street  in 
the  edge  of  the  foreign  quarter.  They  went  through 
a  little  book  shop  to  a  couple  of  rooms  behind.  A 
small  socialist  school  was  quartered  there.  In  one 
room,  a  class  was  going  on;  and  in  the  other,  at  a 
desk,  sat  a  large,  quiet  woman  of  middle  age,  with  a 
face  which  rather  to  Peter's  surprise  was  not  foreign 


98  BEGGARS1  GOLD 

but  American.  She  spoke  with  an  accent  of  the 
West.  Her  name  was  Anna  Blainey.  "What's 
the  trouble?"  she  asked.  And,  when  she  had  learned 
the  gist  of  it,  her  broad,  strong  features  tightened 
in  a  maternal  sort  of  way. 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,  Comrade.  You'd  better  sleep 
here  tonight,"  she  said.  Presently  she  sent  him 
upstairs;  and  as  Peter  turned  to  leave,  she  said, 
"Thank  you,  friend,  for  bringing  him  here.  How 
did  you  find  him?"  Peter  explained.  "You  teach 
in  a  public  school?"  she  asked. 

"Yes."     She  gave  an  inquiring  look. 

"I  was  a  teacher  too,"  she  said.  "But  I  gave  it  up. 
How  about  you?  Are  you  satisfied?"  He  hesitated. 

"Not  entirely " 

"Why  not?  You've  worked  hard  enough — I  can 
see  that;  and  you  look  like  a  man  of  high  ideals. 
No  doubt  you  had  them,  at  one  time,  about  educa 
tion.  But  grinding  away  for  years  and  years,  your 
ideals  have  been  starved.  Isn't  that  true?"  Her 
voice  had  the  tone  of  a  lecturer  now,  but  was  still 
low  and  quiet,  and  genuine  like  her  grey  eyes.  "Now 
who's  to  blame?"  she  continued.  "Has  it  been 
your  fault?  What  opportunity  have  you  had  to 
broaden  yourself?"  And  she  went  on.  With  a 
steady  force  of  conviction  that  caught  Peter's  in 
terest,  she  gave  him  her  picture  of  men  kept  down, 
not  by  faults  within  themselves,  but  by  tremendous 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  99 

forces  outside.  Something  stirred  in  Peter  at  this 
conception  of  human  life,  but  instinctively  he  held 
back. 

"It  sounds  too  easy,"  he  put  in.  "If  you  think  a 
man  can  get  or  do  anything  worth  while  in  life  with 
out  his  being  willing  to  buckle  down  and  work  like 
a  dog " 

"I  don't  think  that,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  smile. 
"Take  a  look  at  me,"  she  said.  "Don't  I  look  as 
though  I  had  worked?" 

"Yes,"  he  admitted. 

"And  looking  at  you  I  can  say  the  same,"  she 
continued  quietly.  "But  the  difference  between  us 
is  that  you're  working  for  something  you've  lost 
faith  in — it  leads  nowhere  any  more ;  while  I'm  work 
ing  for  something,  all  hope  and  faith,  a  world  re 
ligion — and  I  know  that  in  all  countries  millions  of 
people  are  doing  the  same — and  that  our  work  leads 
to  a  new  freedom  for  the  entire  human  race.  In 
every  land,  every  city  and  town,  and  in  every  ship 
at  sea,  there  are  men  and  women  who  believe  this, 
and  who  work  for  it,  dream  of  it!" 

When  he  left  a  little  later,  she  asked  him  to  come 
back  to  the  school. 

"You're  not  a  man  to  be  afraid.  Come  and  see 
what  we  are  doing,"  she  said. 

Peter  walked  home  with  a  scowl  on  his  face.  He 
was  disturbed  and  excited.  "Shall  I  dig  into  this?" 


ioo  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

he  asked.  The  hard,  lean  years  he  had  been  through 
had  laid  his  mind  open  to  what  he  had  heard.  Look 
ing  back  over  his  life,  he  asked,  "Haven't  I  got  it 
in  me?  Haven't  I  felt  it,  again  and  again?  And 
am  I  to  blame?  Haven't  I  tried?  Haven't  I  worked 
like  a  bull  pup  from  start  to  finish?"  Suppose  there 
was  some  truth  in  her  talk?  In  every  country,  city, 
village,  every  ship  upon  the  seas!  By  George,  the 
thing  was  big  enough,  unless  she  lied.  uNo,  I  don't 
believe  she  did!"  Plunging  both  hands  in  his  over 
coat  pockets,  Peter  walked  on  with  his  head  down — 
as  the  vast,  turgid,  gleaming  vista,  which  had  ap 
peared  to  so  many  millions,  opened  up  before  him 
now.  "It's  all  mixed  up  with  a  lot  of  damn  moon 
shine!"  he  growled.  And  he  wondered  what  Kate 
would  say  to  it. 

As  she  listened  to  him  that  night,  throwing  in  an 
occasional  question,  into  her  eyes  came  an  anxious 
look,  but  she  kept  them  on  her  sewing.  She  had 
been  steadily  gaining  of  late;  for  weeks  she  had  not 
had  a  relapse.  But  she  felt  something  in  Peter's 
talk  that  again  would  halt  them  on  their  road. 
"We'll  have  trouble  if  he  goes  into  this,"  she  thought, 
but  she  would  not  oppose  it.  "I  know  nothing  about 
it  yet,  so  I  mustn't  try  to  stop  him." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think?"  he  asked  her  bluntly. 
For  a  moment  she  sewed  in  silence. 

"Why — I  think  it  seems  to  interest  you,  and  it 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  :'/  i  r    :  ;;ipi; 

may  have  a  good  deal  in  it,"  she  said.  "But  you 
know  very  little  about  it  so  far.  I'd  look  into  it 
further,  if  I  were  you." 

A  few  nights  later,  he  went  back  to  Anna  Blainey 
in  her  school.  She  gave  him  a  warm  welcome,  loaned 
him  several  socialist  books  and  invited  him  to  join 
a  class.  But  Peter  was  no  economist,  and  he  found 
the  stuff  they  studied  so  dry  and  so  bewildering  that 
at  the  end  of  a  few  weeks  he  would  have  been  quite 
ready  to  stop,  were  it  not  for  the  deep  intensity  here. 
Though  it  was  all  strange  and  new  to  him,  raw  and 
arrogant  and  half  blind,  it  had  a  power  of  hope  and 
faith  that  made  these  callow  boys  and  girls  of  the 
modern  city  slave  for  it.  He  saw  them  come  in  as 
new  recruits,  hesitating,  questioning,  with  the  cyni 
cal  eyes  of  the  town.  In  a  few  weeks  he  saw  them 
changed,  sacrificing  their  last  cent.  And  soon,  re 
sponding  to  this  faith,  which  had  a  greater  driving 
force  than  any  he'd  ever  felt  before,  he  put  in  every 
hour  he  could  spare  from  the  grind  to  meet  the  bills 
at  home. 

His  new  intensity  reached  its  height  one  evening 
in  the  following  autumn.  The  campaign  of  1900 
was  near  its  end,  and  through  the  dense  crowds  on 
the  lower  East  Side  a  big  truck  slowly  ploughed 
its  way.  There  came  roaring  waves  of  sound: 
"Debs!  Debs!  Eugene  V.  Debs!"  There  came 
amazing  silences.  And  in  one  of  these,  when  the 


104  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

uncle  listened  all  intent.  Then  Peter  could  feel  him 
slipping  back.  For  a  long  time  there  was  silence. 
At  last,  in  a  hard,  unnatural  mumble,  "Been  a  long 
life,"  his  uncle  said.  Staring  up  at  the  ceiling  as  be 
fore,  his  eyes  seemed  roving  over  the  years.  With 
a  frown  he  came  back  to  the  present,  and  made  a 
great  effort  to  speak  again. 

"Don't  let  Kate — bring  Susanna.  Funeral  cheap. 
No  fuss'n  feathers.  .  .  .  Find  my  will — top  bureau 
drawer.  .  .  .  Stamp  collection!"  Those  last  words 
came  out  with  a  jerk,  sharp  and  clear.  The  black 
eyes,  with  an  energy  that  made  them  fierce  and  bright 
once  more,  were  fixed  on  Peter's.  Scowling  in  the 
effort  to  speak,  his  whole  visage  tightened,  twisting: 
"Stamp  collection !  Your  big  chance !"  The  words, 
in  a  thick  whisper,  came  like  an  imploring  cry.  He 
tried  to  go  on,  but  with  a  sudden  tightening  of  his 
hand  on  Peter's  he  relaxed  and  fell  unconscious. 
By  the  morning  he  was  dead. 

Then  Kate  came.  There  was  the  funeral.  And 
later  Peter  had  a  talk  with  his  uncle's  lawyer.  There 
was  barely  money  enough  to  bury  old  Bill  and  pay 
his  debts.  "He  has  left  the  house  and  farm  to  you," 
the  lawyer  said,  "but  they  won't  bring  much.  If  you 
want  to  hang  on  to  the  property,  maybe  I  can  get 
you  a  tenant."  Peter  at  once  agreed  to  that.  They 
lingered  a  little  in  the  house,  selecting  a  few  things 
Kate  had  liked  and  packing  them  to  be  sent  to  New 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  105 

York.  The  stamp  collection  had  grown  to  be  an 
affair  of  four  big  albums.  Peter  took  them  with  him. 
On  the  train,  he  repeated  his  uncle's  last  words,  and 
for  some  time  they  tried  to  puzzle  out  his  meaning. 
Then  Kate  asked, 

"Peter!     Is  it  worth  much?" 

He  looked  back  at  her: 

"Sell  it,  you  mean?" 

"He  may  have  meant  that." 

In  New  York,  Peter  had  it  valued;  and,  surprised 
at  the  result,  he  took  it  around  from  place  to  place, 
and  went  home  that  evening  with  an  offer  of  thirty- 
one  hundred  dollars.  On  hearing  the  news,  Kate 
stared  at  him  with  tears  coming  quickly  to  her  eyes. 

"Poor  old  uncle.  A  big  chance.  He  had  dreamed 
of  it  all  his  life — and  now  he's  giving  it  to  you." 

"A  chance  for  what?"  asked  Peter.  At  the  low, 
strained  tone  of  his  voice,  she  shot  a  quick  look  at 
him,  disturbed  and  questioning.  Suddenly  both  re 
membered  how  wide  apart  they  had  drifted  of  late. 
Again  and  again  he  had  tried  to  gain  her  support 
for  his  new  radical  views — but  without  success;  and 
the  widening  gap  had  made  them  both  unhappy. 
They  did  not  want  to  face  it  now. 

"Your  big  chance,"  Kate  said  softly.  "I  wonder 
what  he  meant  by  that?" 

As  they  talked  about  him,  the  memories  kept  pil 
ing  in — of  Bill  Gowdy's  early  dream  and  his  lonely, 


;    :  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

tall  bald-headed  leader  who  was  loved  by  millions 
sent  over  the  crowds  the  slogan:  "Workers  of  the 
world,  unite!  You  have  nothing  to  lose  but  your 
chains!  You  have  a  world  to  conquer!" — Peter 
looked  far  up  the  street,  deep,  narrow,  dark  and 
glamorous,  with  a  thousand  window  eyes.  He  saw 
the  shadowy  mass  below;  he  felt  a  tightening  in  his 
throat,  and  a  tremendous  passion  rising  up  within 
him. 


He  came  home  cold  and  tired  out,  and  found 
Kate  in  the  bedroom,  packing  his  bag.  A  telegram 
had  come  for  him  from  the  doctor  up  at  Pearly 
Gates.  "Your  uncle  William  Gowdy  has  had  a 
stroke.  He  wants  you.  Come  at  once.  Do  not 
wait."  As  Peter  stared  at  the  message,  he  heard 
Kate's  voice: 

"There's  just  time  to  catch  the  midnight  train. 
Don't  miss  it,  dear;  you  must  start  at  once.  Poor 
old  man,"  she  added,  "how  terribly  lonely  he  must 
be!" 

"Yes,"  said  Peter  softly.  He  was  trembling  from 
head  to  foot.  Seeing  the  look  upon  his  face,  she 
came  to  him. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  for  you,  dear.  If  he's  worse 
tomorrow,  telegraph  and  I'll  come  at  once." 

On  the  train  that  night,  the  whole  perspective 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  103 

of  his  life  abruptly  changing,  Peter  was  carried 
rapidly  back  into  the  hills  where  he'd  been  a  boy. 
They  rose  about  him  covered  with  snow,  white  phan 
toms  in  the  starlit  night,  evoking  scenes  and  faces, 
dreams.  He  still  felt  numb,  he  could  not  think. 
The  change  had  been  so  sudden.  Brief,  scattered 
recollections  came,  of  that  dark  mass  of  people 
surging  through  the  tenement  streets.  "Workers  of 
the  world,  unite !"  Then  all  that  slipped  far  behind, 
as  though  it  were  in  another  life.  With  a  rush,  his 
thoughts  and  feelings  came  back  to  his  uncle  Bill — 
and,  glancing  repeatedly  at  his  watch,  he  cursed  the 
train  for  its  long  delays.  ...  It  was  still  dark  when 
he  walked  with  his  bag  rapidly  up  the  village  street. 
The  place  was  ghostly  and  unreal.  White  snow, 
dark,  silent  houses  beneath  the  steel  blue  autumn 
sky.  There  was  a  light  in  his  uncle's  house,  and 
Peter  found  a  woman  there. 

"It  took  him  two  days  back,"  she  said.  uBut  no 
body  knew  it  till  yesterday,  when  I  noticed  there 
wa'n't  any  smoke  comin'  from  his  chimney." 

On  his  bed,  with  rough,  slow  breathing,  shaggy, 
grim  and  paralyzed,  Bill  Gowdy  stared  up  at  the 
ceiling.  When  Peter  came  in,  his  small  black  eyes 
turned  slowly;  dull  and  glazed  at  first,  they  began 
to  brighten  and  gleam  with  light.  Peter  sat  down 
and  took  his  hand,  and  began  to  talk  to  him  quietly. 
As  he  gave  him  the  news  of  Kate  and  Susanna,  his 


io6  BEGGARS*  GOLD 

rebel  life,  of  his  forlorn  failure  to  break  away  from 
the  chains  of  habit  that  bound  him  down,  and  then  of 
Peter's  dream  and  Kate's  and  their  swift  coming 
together,  Moon  Chao  and  the  chance  to  go  to  Pe 
king. 

"That  may  have  been  the  chance  he  meant,"  said 
Peter.  For  a  moment  they  could  almost  hear  his 
voice :  "Go  there !  It's  the  chance  of  your  lives !" 
But  a  cloud  of  regret  came  over  Kate's  face. 

"I  wonder  if  it  isn't  too  late?  We're — so  much 
more  settled  now.  There's  Susanna-1 — there  are  so 
many  things."  She  looked  at  Peter  with  anxious 
eyes.  "Oh  I'd  like  to  go!"  she  exclaimed.  "But 
somehow  it  doesn't — sound  just  like  us  any  more!" 

uNo — it  doesn't,"  he  replied.  For  some  time 
longer  they  talked  on. 

"Oh  I  don't  know,"  she  sighed  at  last.  "I  guess 
we'll  just  have  to  wait  and  see.  But  remember, 
Peter,  this  is  for  you." 

"No,"  he  replied,  "he  didn't  mean  that.  He 
meant  a  chance  for  all  of  us." 

As  he  lay  awake  that  night,  he  tried  hard  to 
think  it  out.  A  part  of  the  money  he  would  have 
liked  to  put  into  Anna  Blainey's  school,  but  he  dis 
missed  the  plan  at  once,  as  unfair  to  his  uncle  and 
to  Kate.  She  had  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  that  fall; 
for  in  the  campaign  he  had  given  up  much  of  his 
tutoring,  and  they  were  again  in  debt.  He  decided 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  107 

now  to  pay  the  bills  that  had  worried  her  so,  and 
to  make  her  buy  some  clothes  and  take  life  easier  all 
around.  Part  of  the  money  must  go  to  that.  Then 
again  he  thought  of  the  socialist  school;  but  it  was 
as  though  the  spirit  of  his  grim  old  uncle  were 
haunting  him,  saying,  "Quit  all  this  wild  radical 
talk  and  do  something  to  get  ahead !  Think  of  Kate 
and  Susanna,  and  take  this  chance  I'm  giving  you!" 
His  thoughts  kept  turning  to  that  chance — the  old 
torment  of  the  open  door. 

All  at  once  he  remembered  the  Roosevelt  book. 
His  uncle  would  have  approved  of  that.  "Suppose 
I  use  some  of  this  money  to  get  time  to  write,"  he 
thought.  It  did  not  sound  very  exciting  at  first;  but 
for  that  very  reason  it  appealed  to  him.  It  was 
safe.  "I  needn't  give  up  my  position  at  school. 
All  I  need  is  to  get  rid  of  this  infernal  tutoring  and 
be  free  to  write  at  night.  And  if  I  can  make  this 
book  a  success,  it  will  give  me  a  name  and  I  can 
go  on  to  other  biographies  for  boys.  What  have  I 
wanted  all  my  life?  History  and  geography — not 
just  classroom  drudgery  but  a  chance  to  do  original 
work,  and  be  free  to  study,  travel  about!"  How 
the  vistas  opened  up  that  night.  And  reading 
through  his  Roosevelt  notes,  in  the  weeks  that  fol 
lowed,  the  warm  generous  force  of  the  man  began 
to  stir  him  as  before.  Roosevelt,  much  against  his 
will,  had  been  made  Vice-President.  But  was  he 


io8  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

Jetting  himself  be  buried,  as  his  enemies  had  hoped? 
Far  from  it!  With  his  old  delight,  Peter  chuckled 
as  he  read  the  news  of  him  from  day  to  day.  Al 
ready  he  had  his  first  chapter,  the  meeting  with 
Roosevelt  that  frosty  night  when  they  harnessed  the 
team  in  Bill  Gowdy's  barn.  UA  close-up  picture  of 
the  man  that  will  hit  every  boy  between  the  eyes! 
And  I'll  keep  it  like  that  clear  through  the  book! 
No  hero  bunkum !  The  man  as  he  is !  I've  learned 
a  lot  in  these  last  months;  I  can  write  now  with  eyes 
wide  open,  to  his  strong  points  and  his  faults.  He 
has  enough  of  'em,  God  knows.  But  what  was  it 
that  appealed  to  me  in  this  whole  socialist  point  of 
view?  Revolt  against  things  as  they  are,  and  be 
lief  in  what's  in  all  of  us.  And  Roosevelt  in  his  own 
way  is  working  right  along  those  lines!" 

So  Peter  tried  to  reconcile  his  new  plan  with  his 
radical  views.  But  back  in  Anna  Blainey's  school 
he  found  them  bitter  against  T.  R.  Plainly  they 
were  jealous  of  any  progressive  force  than  their  own. 
And  he  felt  their  small  intolerance.  Meanwhile,  a 
talk  with  Dillingham  did  much  to  clear  up  Peter's 
mind.  His  old  chief  called  him  in  one  day  and 
asked, 

"Are  you  still  doing  any  work  in  that  little  social 
ist  school?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peter,  with  a  slight  start.  "How  did 
you  learn  that  I  was  there?" 


BEGGARS1  GOLD  109 

"From  some  people  up-town,"  the  other  an 
swered  drily.  "They  want  me  to  fire  you.  But  I 
guess  you  know  me  better  than  that." 

'Thanks,"  said  Peter  gruffly. 

"No  thanks  about  it,"  the  old  man  said.  "If  I 
had  my  way,  I'd  have  socialist  clubs  right  here  in 
the  building — give  'em  rooms  to  meet  in  at  night. 
What's  false  is  bound  to  be  shown  up,  and  the 
truth  there  is  in  it  can  do  us  no  harm.  We're  not 
perfect  yet,  God  knows.  We  haven't  even  got  to 
the  point  where  we  give  the  kids  a  fair  and  decent 
start  in  life;  a  'square  deal,'  as  Teddy  calls  it.  But 
speaking  of  Teddy,"  he  went  on,  "reminds  me  of 
that  book  of  yours.  Why  don't  you  tackle  it  again?" 

"I'm  thinking  of  that,"  said  Peter. 

"Good!  Kate  was  in,  the  other  day.  She  told 
me  of  that  legacy  and  asked  my  advice.  We  talked 
you  over  from  A  to  Izzard,  and  came  to  the  con* 
elusion  that  the  book  was  your  best  chance." 

"She  didn't  tell  me,"  Peter  said.  His  old  chief 
chuckled. 

"That's  like  Kate.  She  thought  it  would  be  better 
to  let  you  come  to  it  yourself.  Now  how  do  you 
mean  to  go  about  it?" 

Soon  in  a  rapid  hungry  way  Peter  was  talking 
of  the  book.  When  he  had  finished,  Dillingham  said, 
"Well,  this  all  sounds  good  to  me.  I  tell  you,  boy, 
in  these  next  months  you're  going  to  feel  like  a  new 


no  BEGGARS1  GOLD 

man!  You'll  live  in  a  new  world — Teddy's  world 
— of  vigor,  hope,  vitality!  Get  into  it — get  into 
him — get  way  in  under  the  skin  of  the  man !  Try 
to  think  as  he  thinks  and  feel  as  he  feels !  Get  thou 
sands  of  little  things  in  his  life,  that  you'll  never 
write  but  which  will  be  there  and  make  you  feel  him, 
real,  alive !" 

Later  in  their  talk  he  asked,  uHow  do  you  mean 
to  get  time  for  this?" 

"By  cutting  out  all  night  work — tutoring  and 
night  school,  too — and  giving  my  evenings  to  the 
book." 

"That  won't  do,"  said  Dillingham.  "You'd  bet 
ter  give  up  all  teaching  and  put  in  your  whole  time 
on  it."  Peter  gave  an  anxious  frown: 

"I've  thought  of  that,  but  it's  too  big  a  risk!  If 
I  quit  school,  it  means  we'll  spend  nearly  all  this 
money  in  a  year!  I've  my  family  to  think  about!" 

But  when  he  spoke  of  it  to  Kate  that  night,  she 
warmly  supported  Dillingham's  plan. 

"You've  got  to  give  up  school,"  she  said.  "I've 
been  a  teacher  myself,  and  I  know.  After  a  long 
day's  teaching,  you  feel  as  though  you'd  been  beaten 
by  sticks!  And  if  you're  going  to  write  this  book 
you  can't  afford  to  feel  like  that!  You  must  start 
in  the  morning  and  give  the  whole  day,  the  very  best 
that  is  in  you !  Oh  Peter,  you'll  succeed  in  this — 
I  can  just  feel  it  in  my  bones !  And  then  you'll  go 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  in 

on  to  other  books!  Stop  worrying  over  Susanna 
and  me !  I'm  not  going  to  be  sick  any  more — why 
Peter,  dearie,  I'm  strong!"  she  cried.  "Think  what 
it  will  mean — for  all  of  us !  Risk  it,  Peter — take  the 
chance!" 

A  few  weeks  longer  he  held  back;  but  toward  the 
end  of  the  winter,  he  resigned  his  position  at  school, 
and  within  a  few  days  he  was  at  work,  in  the  old 
Astor  Library. 


It  was  such  a  new  life  to  Peter  Wells,  this  glorious 
start  in  the  morning,  fresh,  with  a  whole  day  for 
the  work  he  loved.  He  had  begun  no  writing  yet. 
For  the  present  he  was  rabid  to  read,  to  take  in  and 
absorb,  let  the  fancies  rise.  It  was  as  though  he  had 
come  abruptly  into  a  gleaming  inner  world  where 
nothing  was  impossible.  And  looming  in  the  fore 
ground,  closer,  bigger,  day  by  day,  rose  the  figure 
of  the  man  who  had  sent  his  name  like  a  magic 
force  spreading  swiftly  over  the  land.  The  gold  in 
him,  the  human  gold,  the  warm  rich  humanity!  To 
keep  up  with  him,  what  a  race  it  was!  While  dig 
ging  into  his  boyhood  growth,  Peter  would  be  over 
whelmed  by  a  fresh  mass  of  material  out  of  the 
papers  and  magazines,  Roosevelt's  doings  in  a 
month!  Yielding  himself  and  leaving  behind  the 


H2  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

memories  of  his  own  little  career,  struggles,  failures 
and  mistakes,  he  was  swept  up  into  the  life  of  this 
big  American ;  and  reading,  thinking,  talking,  breath 
ing,  dreaming  Roosevelt,  thrilling  intimations  came 
of  how  it  must  feel  to  be  like  that ! 

At  home  by  the  hour  he  talked  with  Kate,  who 
was  an  eager  listener.  Already  she  had  begun  again 
to  scrimp  and  save,  to  eke  out  their  small  legacy  and 
make  it  last  the  longer.  But  summer  came,  with  the 
hot  days,  and  Peter  insisted  that  she  and  Susanna 
go  to  the  seashore  fcr  two  months.  Alone  in  the 
city  he  worked  on.  And  then  slowly  came  a  change. 
It  was  all  very  fine  to  read  and  take  in;  but  when 
he  tackled  his  mass  of  notes,  to  sort  them  out  and 
sift  them  down,  in  the  growing  perplexity  of  it  all 
he  lost  that  exultant  glow.  At  the  desk  in  the  old 
library,  the  lean,  tall  official  there  faced  him  with 
discouraged  eyes  that  seemed  to  ask:  "What  can 
you  do?  You're  only  one  of  hundreds  who  have 
come  here  to  write  great  books  and  have  failed. 
What  a  waste  of  time."  In  exasperation,  Peter  now 
began  to  write.  But  what  false,  stilted,  awful  stuff ! 
T^ddy?  A  mere  mannikin!  Humor?  A  few 
forced  guffahs!  Savagely  he  tore  it  up  and  tried 
again — again,  again! 

When  Kate  returned,  she  asked  at  once  how  the 
book  was  getting  on.  "Oh  it's  beginning  to  shape 
up."  She  caught  the  anxiety  in  his  voice,  and  they 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  113 

were  not  happy  together  that  night;  her  attempts  to 
clear  the  atmosphere  failed.  For  back  of  all  their 
thinking  loomed  two  grim  facts — they  had  spent  a 
third  of  their  money,  and  die  hook  refused  to  start. 

Then  came  a  tremendous  shock.  McKinley  shot 
by  an  anarchist!  A  few  days  later  he  was  dead,  and 
Peter's  hero  had  become  President  of  the  United 
States!  In  the  excitement  of  it  all,  Peter  almost 
forgot  his  work.  Then  back  he  came.  "Now!"  he 
thought.  How  the  opportunity  for  such  a  book  had 
been  increased!  That  autumn  by  sheer  force  of 
will  he  ground  out  chapter  after  chapter.  But  the 
Roosevelt  of  his  dreams  had  receded  far  away;  and 
in  his  place,  in  Peter's  book,  stood  a  grotesque  and 
clumsy  image — "like  a  snow  man  made  by  kids !"  he 
growled.  Where  was  the  warm  reality?  Reaching 
out,  as  it  were,  in  a  savage  appeal  for  the  old  T.  R., 
Peter  would  feel  him  coming  back;  but  the  moment 
he  tried  to  write  him  down,  once  more  his  mind 
would  seem  to  lock  and  the  living  stuff  grow  stiff  and 
cold  Doggedly  going  back  to  the  work,  all  day 
until  the  library  closed,  often  forgetting  to  stop 
for  meals,  he  came  home  late,  blue  and  depressed; 
and,  through  long  nights  when  he  could  not  sleep,  a 
deep,  sardonic,  inner  self  rose  up  and  laughed  at  his 
struggles. 

"You'll  fail  in  this!  And  it's  your  last  chance! 
You'll  fail  and  settle,  down  and  down!" 


ii4  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

He  could  feel  Kate's  anxious  watching — now 
silent  and  now  throwing  in  small  casual  suggestions. 
In  their  talk  one  night  a  question  rose  about  Roose 
velt's  early  life.  When  had  he  first  used  a  gun? 

"Why  not  write  him  and  ask?"  said  Kate.  And  in 
a  few  moments,  flushed  and  excited,  crying,  "Then 
let's  do  it  now!"  she  had  Peter  at  the  desk;  and 
they  wrote  and  re-wrote  the  letter  that  night. 

"Now,  Peter,  go  out  and  mail  it!" 

He  gave  a  slight  start,  and  so  did  she.  An  old 
memory  flashed  into  their  minds.  He  turned  away, 
but  a  moment  later  he  faced  her  with  a  quizzical 
smile. 

"Hadn't  you  better  go  with  me  this  time,  and 
make  sure  of  it,  Kate?"  he  asked.  She  laughed  and 
came  quickly  into  his  arms. 

"Peter,  dear,  I  could  wring  your  neck!" 

"No,  you  couldn't,  Kate,  it's  too  heavy  and  stiff 
— all  muscle  bound — like  me,"  he  said. 

"You  poor,  queer,  darling  husband " 

"No — not  poor — not  queer,"  he  whispered,  hold 
ing  her  tighter.  "Just  damned  slow!  But  I'm  lov 
ing  you  very  hard,  these  days,  and  I'm  going  to  put 
this  through!" 

Then  he  went  out  and  mailed  the  letter;  and  in  a 
few  days  there  came  from  the  White  House  this 
reply: 

"My  Dear  Mr.  Wells: — I  was  given  my  first  gun 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  115 

the  summer  when  I  was  thirteen.  It  was  a  breech- 
loading,  pin-fire,  double  barrel,  made  in  France.  For 
weeks  I  was  by  all  odds  the  worst  shot  among  my 
friends.  Then  I  found  that  the  trouble  was  in  my 
eyes.  My  parents  bought  me  spectacles,  and  from 
then  on  I  quickly  improved — but  those  new  specs 
opened  up  such  a  world,  that  I  had  barely  seen  be 
fore,  of  interest  and  beauty  in  the  life  of  the  woods 
and  fields — that  I  often  forgot  to  shoot  at  all.  It 
has  been  that  way  with  me  ever  since,  in  spite  of 
what  some  people  say.  I  am  greatly  interested  in 
your  book.  Not  enough  real  stuff  has  been  written 
for  boys.  We  are  just  at  the  beginning  of  real 
education.  I  take  off  my  hat  to  teachers.  You  have 
the  greatest  job  in  the  land.  At  best,  I  can  only 
lead  men.  You  can  mould  them!" 

Reading  the  letter  many  times,  at  first  with  Kate 
and  then  alone,  Peter  felt  a  tonic  force  pour  into 
him;  and,  for  several  weeks,  writing  hard  and  fast, 
he  could  feel  the  stuff  grow  strong  and  real.  Then 
slowly  he  got  snarled  once  more;  and  Kate,  still 
watching,  said  one  night: 

"Why  don't  you  write  to  him  again?" 

"What  right  have  I  to  impose  on  him?  Think 
how  packed  his  time  must  be." 

"I  don't  care.  This  book  is  important.  And  if 
you  can  catch  his  interest  he  won't  mind  it  in  the 
least.  That's  exactly  the  sort  of  man  he  is!" 


in  6  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

Carefully  they  composed  a  letter  describing  tne 
book  as  a  combination  of  "the  strenuous  life"  idea 
and  the  one  that  had  meant  so  much  in  their  lives, 
"We  are  beggars  sitting  on  bags  of  gold."  And 
they  added  a  brief  mention  of  that  night  meeting  in 
the  barn.  When  Peter  went  out  to  mail  it,  she 
quickly  wrote  another  herself : 

"Dear  Mr.  President: — My  husband  has  just 
written  you  a  letter  about  his  book  about  you.  If 
you  can  only  give  him  ten  minutes,  face  to  face,  it 
may  change  his  entire  life." 

Three  weeks  later,  an  answer  came : 

"Dear  Mr.  Wells: — That's  a  bully  idea  you  have 
for  your  book.  I  remember  quite  well  that  night  in 
the  barn.  Why  don't  you  come  and  see  me?  Come 
Tuesday  at  10:45." 

"Good  God!"  cried  Peter.     "That's  tomorrow!" 

"Never  mind,"  said  Kate  in  a  low,  tense  voice. 
"I'll  pack  your  bag — while  you  go  through  your 
manuscript  and  choose  what  to  take  along." 

"Take  along?  Do  you  think  I'd  show  him  any  of 
this  stuff?"  he  cried. 

"Of  course  you  will!  He'll  ask  for  it!  And  he's 
President  of  the  United  States!" 

6. 

The  next  morning  in  the  White  House,  with  a  con 
fused,  exciting  sense  of  a  crowd  of  other  visitors 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  117 

about  him  from  all  over  the  land,  Peter  fiercely  went 
over  the  list  of  questions  he  meant  to  ask,  points 
for  his  book  that  he  wanted  so,  that  would  make  such 
a  difference!  He  asked  an  official  how  long  he 
Would  have.  The  man  glanced  at  his  schedule.  "Ten 
minutes/'  he  said.  Peter  felt  his  huge  throat  con 
strict.  Then  came  the  thought,  "He'll  make  it  an 
hour!  He's  just  that  kind!  He'll  keep  all  these 

millionaires  and  senators  and  diplomats "  Peter 

was  vague  about  such  men — "all  waiting,  while  we 
talk  of  my  book!"  And  he  excitedly  mopped  his 
brow. 

In  a  slow,  rigid  way,  a  few  minutes  later,  he 
got  up  when  his  name  was  called,  and  smiling  walked 
into  the  other  room. 

The  enormous  chest  of  the  man!  And  the  jaws, 
the  genial,  teethy  smile,  and  the  eyes,  and  the  strong 
grip  of  his  hand ! 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Wells !  So  you  were  the 
fellow  in  the  barn.  I  remember  that  night  — remem 
ber  it  well !  We  made  a  quick  job  of  that  harnessing, 
eh?"  And  then,  when  Peter  had  sat  down:  "So 
you're  writing  a  book  about  me  for  boys?  That's 
a  great  idea  you've  got — to  hold  it  all  together. 
Beggars  sitting  on  bags  of  gold.  We  all  are.  I 
am  myself — a  beggar — only  a  beggar,  by  George  !— 
when  I  think  of  all  I  want  to  be,  and  do  in  life,  before 
I'm  through.  Now  tell  me  your  troubles." 


n8  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

Peter  began,  and  grew  tense  and  hot  in  his  effort 
to  get  out  what  was  in  him.  "What  I  want  to  do, 
Mr.  President,  is  something  real!"  he  ended.  From 
his  listener  came  a  glance  that  asked,  "But  what 
do  you  know  of  realities?" 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  Dakota,  Wells?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Go  there  if  you  can.  Seen  anything  of  the  New 
York  Police?"  ' 

"Not  much.    I " 

"Talk  with  my  friend,  Jake  Riis.  Were  you  in 
the  War?" 

"Why  no,  Mr.  President.  You  see,  my  wife's 
baby  was >" 

"I  understand.    Ever  been  in  Albany?" 

The  questions,  fired  thick  and  fast,  had  filled  Peter 
with  dismay.  He  began  talking  hard  and  fast  about 
how  in  a  book  of  this  kind,  for  boys,  there  was  room 
for  only  the  A,  B,  C's  of  American  politics. 

"That's  right,"  said  Roosevelt  cordially,  "boil  it 
down,  make  it  simple  and  plain.  But  don't  you  for 
get  that  American  boys  understand  a  lot  more  than 
we  older  ones  think !  And  don't  forget  to  see  Jake 
Riis!  By  the  way,  got  a  sample  of  what  you've 
done?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peter,  turning  cold.  "But  it's  not 
at  all  as  I  want  it  yet." 

"Never  mind — let's  have  a  look  at  it." 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  119 

As  he  glanced  through  a  few  pages  then,  Peter 
saw  him  hesitate ;  and  Peter  grew  so  rigid  now  that 
when  the  President  looked  up  a  flash  of  sympathy 
came  in  his  eyes. 

"All  right — bully — this  is  a  start.  You  haven't 
got  it  yet — as  you  say.  But  keep  at  it,  Wells — and 
write  me."  He  rose.  "And  take  my  advice.  If 
you  want  a  short  cut,  why  not  get  a  trained  writer 
to  help  you?  See  what  I  mean?  It  will  save  your 
time.  .  .  .  Oh,  hello  Senator,  glad  to  see  you. 
Good-bye,  Wells,  and  good  luck  to  the  book.  And 
write  me — write  me!" 


Peter  went  out  in  a  kind  of  a  daze ;  but  later,  on 
his  journey  home,  the  facts  of  his  brief  interview 
grew  clear  to  him,  and  they  were  grim.  "I  got  ten 
minutes  and  no  more.  He  sized  me  up  as  a  great, 
big  dub — no  first  hand  knowledge  of  his  life,  no- 
power  as  a  writer."  For  some  time  he  sat  staring 
out  of  the  car  window.  "And  yet  he's  wrong,  by 
God,  he's  wrong!  I  have  got  it  in  me!  .  .  .  But 
the  difference  between  us  is  that  he  can  get  it  out — I 
can't.  I'm  like  him — I'm  like  Roosevelt.  So  is  that 
farmer  out  there,  cutting  wood — and  so  are  millions 
of  average  men.  The  seeds  of  all  he  has  are  in  us — 
but  they're  all  locked  up  inside." 


120  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

When  he  got  home  that  evening,  he  tried  to  hide 
his  discouragement;  but  by  her  anxious  questions 
Kate  soon  broke  through  his  defence  and  got  the 
whole  truth  out  of  him. 

"All  right,"  she  said,  determinedly,  "there's  noth 
ing  to  be  discouraged  about.  He  wants  you  to  get  it 
more  at  first  hand.  Why  can't  you  ?" 

"Go  out  West?  Ride  broncos?  Shoot  and  yell 
and  swing  a  lasso  ?"  At  the  startled  look  on  his  face, 
Kate  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed.  "Now," 
said  he,  "when  you  can  stop  laughing,  tell  me  some 
thing  else  I'm  to  do !" 

"I  will.  Why  Peter,  right  here  in  New  York 
there  must  be  scores  of  friends  of  his.  He  told 
you  to  see  Jacob  Riis." 

"I  tell  you  he's  wrong!  I  don't  need  his  friends! 
I've  already  got  too  much  as  it  is !  All  I  need  is  to 
write  it,  get  it  out!" 

"Then  why  not  do  as  he  suggests  and  get  some 
one  to  help  you,  dear — a  man  who  has  been  trained 
to  write  and  who  does  it  easily?  Other  men  have 
begun  that  way!  You'll  learn  so  much  that  will 
help  you  in  any  other  books  you  try!" 

"If  I  ever  try  another  book,"  growled  Peter,  "it 
will  be  a  telephone  directory!" 

It  ended  in  his  promising  to  try  to  find  a  collabora 
tor.  But  it  was  not  easy.  Peter  had  no  writer 
friends.  As  a  last  resource,  he  went  back  to  the 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  121 

Astor  Library  and  spoke  to  the  lean  official  there. 
This  man,  by  his  dark,  discouraging  eyes,  had  built 
up  a  wall  of  defence  from  the  hundreds  of  readers 
who  came  each  day;  but  behind  this  wall,  in  his  own 
grim  way,  he  had  spent  a  lifetime  watching  them — • 
picking  out  the  queer  birds  in  the  flock,  noticing  the 
books  they  read  or  the  books  that  they  were  writing 
here.  So  Peter,  coming  every  day,  had  attracted  his 
attention.  They  had  had  brief  talks  at  times,  and 
he  knew  a  good  deal  about  Peter's  book.  When 
asked  if  he  knew  of  anyone  who  would  do  as  a  col 
laborator,  he  answered  with  a  queer  expression, 

"I  do — the  very  man  you  want.  But  he  left  here 
some  days  ago.  He  was  doing  a  book  on  the  Colo 
nel,  too." 

"Roosevelt?" 

"Yes." 

"For  boys?" 

"That's  it." 

Peter  stared. 

"Do  you  know  if  he  was  at  it  long?" 

"Not  very.     Only  a  month  or  so." 

"I  see."   ' 

At  the  expression  on  Peter's  face,  a  look  almost 
of  compassion  came  into  the  lean  man's  eyes. 

"But  I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
confidential  tone,  "that  from  what  I  saw  of  it,  this 
chap  was  doing  a  cheap  piece  of  work.  You  go 


122  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

ahead  and  forget  him — and  leave  all  hack-writers 
alone.  You've  gone  after  something  big;  and  you 
don't  want  to  let  it  worry  you  if  it  takes  years  to 
put  it  through.  Most  of  these  people  aren't  in 
your  class.  If  you  ever  get  to  feeling  down,  just 
take  a  look  around  the  room.  Over  half  of  'em 
read  nothing  but  trash,  and  the  few  queer  birds  who 
are  on  the  job  are  all  dried  up  in  theories,  or  riding 
hobbies  of  their  own,  or  out  to  get  one  special  thing 
and  get  it  quick.  Grabbers,  dreamers,  loafers,  bums, 
come  in  here  to  get  out  of  the  cold." 

Back  to  his  corner  Peter  went  and  plunged  again 
into  his  work.  But,  in  the  weeks  that  followed,  his 
whole  feeling  of  the  lofty  room  gradually  under 
went  a  change.  No  longer  a  place  of  boundless 
chances,  vistas  opening  bright  and  wide  into  a 
gleaming  inner  world  where  all  things  were  pos 
sible.  He  felt  the  limitations  here,  not  only  in  him 
self  alone  but  in  all  these  other  workers  here,  in 
these  faces,  this  fixed  eyes.  Even  while  he  was 
working  hard,  they  pressed  into  his  consciousness. 

One  day,  a  florid  youngster,  with  a  little  pointed 
beard,  sat  down  and  was  soon  in  a  fever  of  writing, 
throwing  off  page  after  page.  When  anyone  sat 
down  next  to  him,  he  would  look  up  with  a  scowl  of 
suspicion;  but  learning  in  time  of  Peter's  wort,  he 
grew  confidential,  and  one  night  he  told  of  th  play 
he  was  writing.  Its  title  was  "The  Acid  Cross," 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  123 

and  the  great  scene  was  in  a  church.  "No  ancient 
beauty — none  at  all — just  modern,  ugly,  real,"  he 
cried,  with  a  strong  twang  of  the  Middle  West.  The 
hero,  who  was  a  chemist — "a  modern  scientist — un 
derstand?" — was  trying  to  keep  the  girl  he  loved 
from  becoming  a  nun.  And  to  show  up  "the  clap 
trap  of  the  whole  religious  bunkum  game,"  he  put 
into  the  Holy  Fount  a  few  drops  of  an  acid  so 
strong  that  all  the  worshippers  soon  began  to  feel 
fiery  crosses  on  their  brows.  There  followed  a 
panic  in  the  church.  "Then  a  speech  from  the  scien 
tist,  ending  with  Take!'  And  then  a  slow  curtain 
— understand?  Do  you  get  it — the  big  punch  of  it, 
the  superb  dramatic  effect?  I  tell  you,  man,  I  know 
thej  stage — I've  been  an  actor  all  my  life !  And  if 
this  is  done  as  it  should  be,  this  play  will  go  thunder 
ing  over  the  world — till  it  comes  like  a  crash  of 
doom — to  Rome!" 

As  Peter  listened  to  this  youth,  a  quizzical  ex 
pression  came  on  his  heavy,  sensitive  face.  "My 
God,  am  I  like  that,"  he  asked,  "with  this  would-be 
famous  book  of  mine?" 

In  the  first,  warm,  restless  days  of  spring,  many 
travellers  came  to  the  library.  With  books  and 
maps  how  eagerly  they  careered  about  the  earth! 
To  Peter's  table  one  young  girl  brought  time  tables 
and  sailing  lists,  and  made  notes  in  a  hungry  way 
that  reminded  him  of  Kate  and  himself  in  the  first 


[124  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

year  of  their  married  life.  "I  wonder  if  she'll  go?" 
he  thought.  "I  wonder  if  any  of  'em  will  go?  Or 
are  they  all  just  like  me — taking  it  all  out  in 
dreams?" 

There  was  still  one  more  figure  who  caught  his 
attention  here — an  elderly,  clear  eyed  little  man,  who 
in  a  wistful,  whimsical  way  perused  a  most  astonish 
ing  variety  of  volumes — on  natural  science,  history, 
art,  philosophy  and  religion.  One  Saturday,  he 
brought  to  the  table  some  huge  volumes  filled  with 
prints  of  Spanish  and  Italian  paintings.  He  apolo 
gized  to  Peter  for  taking  so  much  room  that  day. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me,"  Peter  asked,  "why 
you  are  so  interested  in  so  many  kinds  of  books?'* 
And,  with  that  whimsical,  wistful  look,  the  elderly 
man  answered: 

"I  am  trying  to  find  God.  I  lost  track  of  Him 
several  years  ago,  at  the  time  of  the  death  of  my 
dearest  friend.  It's  a  puzzling  task  to  find  Him, 
these  days.  He  seems  to  be  so  scattered  about — in 
so  many  kinds  of  places.  What  is  it  you  are  looking 
for?"  Peter  smiled  back  at  him  and  said, 

"I'm  trying  to  find  Roosevelt."  The  little  man 
gave  a  quiet  chuckle. 

"That  should  not  be  hard,"  he  said. 

"It  isn't.  The  only  trouble  comes  when  you  try 
to  crowd  him  into  a  book — catch  him,  hold  him,  pin 
him  down." 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  125; 

"Yes,  that  would  be  difficult." 

As  Peter  told  of  his  troubles,  the  other  listened 
with  a  look  of  deepening  curiosity.  He  spent  the 
rest  of  the  afternoon  reading  Peter's  manuscript; 
and,  when  he  was  through,  he  said : 

"I  know  very  little  about  books,  but  reading  yours, 
after  what  you  have  told  me,  I  should  say  that  if  I 
were  you  I'd  feel  very  proud  of  what  I  had  in  me, 
whether  or  not  I  could  bring  it  all  out.  Thank  you 
for  an  afternoon  that  has  carried  me  quite  a  long 
way  on  my  road.  For  the  bags  of  gold  you  speak 
of  are  in  us  all."  He  hesitated,  and  then  said,  in  a 
low,  deferential  tone,  "I'm  inclined  to  think  this  gold 
is  God." 

After  their  talk  that  afternoon,  Peter  grew  more 
and  more  intense.  Nearly  two-thirds  of  the  money 
was  gone.  At  home  he  could  feel  how  Kate  was 
cutting  down  expenses  in  every  little  way  she  could; 
and  again  she  was  earning  money  by  doing  work  for 
Dillingham.  But  she  barely  ever  looked  tired  now. 
Gathering  all  her  forces  for  the  impending  crisis,  she 
kept  steadily  on  each  day,  leaving  Peter  alone  when 
she  felt  that  the  thought  of  her  sharpened  his  anx 
iety;  but  again  when  she  knew  he  wanted  her,  listen 
ing  while  he  talked  of  his  book,  putting  in  quick 
suggestions,  and  making  him  feel  her  warm,  deep 
faith.  He  had  not  let  her  read  it  yet.  Despite  her 
reluctance  to  leave  him,  he  made  her  take  Susanna 


126  BEGGARS*  GOLD 

again  to  the  seashore  in  July;  and  alone  in  the  city, 
he  settled  down  to  the  last  stretch.  Often  at  home 
he  wrote  half  the  night;  and  by  day,  in  the  hot 
library,  Peter  utterly  forgot  those  figures  who  had 
emerged  before.  The  big  room  had  grown  stale  to 
him,  its  secrets  silent,  hidden  deep.  Still,  with  a 
slow,  grinding  force,  he  kept  on  with  his  writing. 
At  times  it  all  seemed  like  a  dream.  "When  shall  I 
wake  up?"  he  asked. 

But  just  before  his  awakening,  there  was  thrown 
across  the  path  of  his  dream  the  shadow  of  a  tragedy 
that  affected  to  no  small  degree  the  color  of  his 
thinking,  the  denouement  of  his  own  struggle  here. 

Early  in  the  summer  the  author  of  "The  Acid 
Cross"  had  finished  up  his  manuscript.  Peter  had 
watched  him,  late  one  evening,  wrap  it  up  and  ad 
dress  the  package.  Then  both  hands  had  gone  to 
his  eyes,  and  he  had  sat  a  moment  rigid,  as  though 
breathing  a  last  prayer.  "He's  doing  that  because 
he  knows  I'm  looking,"  Peter  had  thought.  "He 
just  can't  help  it — playing  the  part."  He  had  come 
almost  daily  after  that;  and,  as  he  sat  reading  plays, 
mumbling  anxiously  at  times  or  throwing  sharp,  tor 
mented  looks  out  into  space,  again  Peter  had  felt 
he  was  playing  the  part.  But  now  he  looked  thin, 
sallow,  ill;  Peter's  sympathy  was  gripped,  and  he 
found  himself  wanting  the  boy  to  win.  At  last,  one 
August  afternoon,  with  the  rejected  manuscript  un- 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  127 

der  his  arm,  the  little  actor-dramatist  made  a  slow 
entrance,  as  though  on  the  stage,  slowly  sank  into  a 
chair,  and  the  blue  eyes  that  Peter  saw  were  those 
of  a  dismal,  hopeless  boy,  sick,  lonely,  wishing  he 
were  dead.  But  abruptly  once  more  the  actor  in 
him  came  to  the  fore;  again  the  eyes  grew  con 
scious,  gleaming;  and  in  a  stage  whisper, 

"Yes,  that's  it — to  die!"  he  said.  "In  the  very 
heart  and  center — of  the  world  that  I  have  loved!" 

A  moment  longer  he  held  his  pose.  Then  with 
a  start  he  seemed  to  notice  Peter  close  beside  him. 
He  sprang  up,  laughing,  seized  Peter's  hand,  and 
with  a  gay,  quick,  "Good-bye!"  he  walked  off  down 
the  lofty  room.  Peter  turned  and  watched  him  go. 
He  had  caught  the  whiskey  on  his  breath.  "That 
boy  will  never  kill  himself — he'll  go  on  a  good  drunk 
instead,  and  then  get  a  job  as  cheap  as  himself,  in 
some  road  company,"  he  thought.  But  the  next 
afternoon,  to  get  a  book  that  he  needed,  he  went  to 
his  friend,  the  librarian;  and  that  laconic  person 
asked, 

"Remember  the  little  actor  ass  who  used  to  work 
at  your  table?" 

"Yes.    What  about  him?" 

"Look  at  this."  And  he  handed  Peter  an  evening 
paper.  On  the  front  page  was  a  half  column  story 
under  the  heading,  "His  Big  Last  Act." 

"Last  night  about  eight  forty-five,  when  the  cur- 


128  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

tains  in  the  theatres  had  been  rung  up  and  the  Great 
White  Way  was  settling  down  to  wait  for  the  late 
evening  rush,  a  thin  young  man  with  a  Vandyke 
beard  and  a  big  portfolio  under  his  arm  came  up  to  a 
taxi  by  the  curb.  'My  friend/  he  said  to  the  taxi- 
man,  Tm  dead  to  the  world.  I  want  a  nap/  The 
breaker  of  speed  ordinances  replied,  'All  right,  old 
top.  Go  on  home  and  sleep  it  off/  'I  have  chosen 
your  taxi/  the  youth  replied,  'as  the  place  for  my 
long  sleep/  To  this  the  wheel-smasher  answered, 
'Have,  eh?  Choose  again!'  The  bearded  boy  pro 
duced  six  dollar  bills.  'How  long  can  I  sit  in  there 
for  this?'  The  chauffeur  woke  right  up  and  asked, 
'Where  do  you  want  to  go,  sir?'  The  youngster 
scowled  impatiently.  'I  don't  want  to  go — I  want 
to  stay  right  here  where  I  am!'  he  cried.  'All  right, 
hop  in.  When  would  you  like  to  be  called,  my 
Lord?'  'Oh  in  an  hour  or  so,  my  good  man.'  He 
disappeared  into  the  car,  and,  while  the  driver  was 
scratching  his  head  over  this  queer  bird  come  to 
roost,  his  head  came  out  of  the  window.  'I  forgot 
your  tip,  my  good  fellow.'  He  handed  out  forty 
cents  and  yawned — pulled  down  the  curtains.  An 
hour  passed.  At  ten  o'clock  the  driver  looked  in 
and  saw  that  his  fare  was  fast  asleep.  At  eleven, 
when  the  street  came  to  life,  when  the  crowds  poured 
out  of  the  theatres  and  all  the  cabs  and  taxis  began 
to  hustle  for  business,  the  driver  again  jerked  open 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  129 

the  door  and  shouted, 'Heigh!  Time's  up!  You're 
home !'  There  was  no  reply.  He  seized  the  arm  of 
the  sleeper  to  shake  him.  Then  with  a  quick  startled 
cry  he  hustled  off  to  get  a  cop.  For  the  young 
man  with  the  Vandyke  beard  was  home  indeed.  In 
one  hand  was  a  bottle  of  laudanum  On  the  seat  was 
the  big  portfolio — which  being  opened  revealed  a 
play  in  four  acts  entitled,  'The  Acid  Cross.'  The 
ambulance  doctor  said,  'Too  late.'  In  the  dead  boy's 
other  hand  was  a  card  on  which,  underlined  in  red 
ink,  was  written,  'Exit  J.  Pinkerton  Jones.' ' 

From  reading  the  story,  Peter  looked  up  and  met 
the  lean  librarian's  eyes.  There  was  a  curious  glint 
in  them: 

"And  he  did  it  with  laudanum,"  he  said.  "Good 
old  tragic  laudanum." 

"Well,"  said  Peter,  huskily,  "thank  God  the  poor 
kid  got  on  the  front  page." 


8. 


It  was  hard  to  work  that  evening.  In  spite  of 
himself  he  kept  glancing  at  the  empty  chair  nearby. 
What  a  futile  little  life;  what  a  cheap,  theatrical 
end.  "But  we're  all  more  or  less  that,"  he  thought, 
"when  you  think  of  these  little  lives  we  lead — be 
neath  the  stars — and  the  things  we  try  to  be."  A 
picture  came  of  the  stars  at  night,  up  in  the  moun- 


130  BEGGARS1  GOLD 

tains  where  he  was  born,  and  then  of  his  wife  and 
child  who  were  still  at  the  seashore.  He  saw  Kate 
quietly  reading,  Susanna  playing  in  the  sand;  he 
saw  the  long,  shining,  ocean  waves  roll  in  and  break 
upon  the  beach.  And  suddenly  that  night  he  found 
that  all  the  fever  of  suspense  had  gone  out  of  his 
struggle  here.  The  pitiful,  cheap,  little  drama,  that 
had  been  played  so  close  to  him,  had  abruptly  re 
stored  his  sense  of  proportions,  lost  in  the  strain  of 
this  last  year.  Success?  A  useful  book  for  boys. 
And  failure  ?  Well,  then,  back  to  school. 

"Whatever  comes,  there'll  be  no  scene — no  plung 
ing  into  melodramatic  depths  of  despair — no  hell 
for  my  wife.  No — I'll  keep  it  quiet." 

And  though,  in  the  month  that  followed,  the  old 
intensity  returned,  and  there  were  many  sleepless 
nights,  when  at  last  the  end  did  come,  he  kept  it 
quiet,  all  inside.  Early  one  afternoon  in  October  he 
left  his  manuscript  with  Kate  and  went  out  for  a 
long  walk.  He  stayed  out  until  late  in  the  evening. 
When  he  came  home  he  found  her  still  reading,  and 
one  look  at  her  face  was  enough.  She  was  disap 
pointed.  Well?  What  next?  He  sat  down  and  lit 
his  pipe,  opened  a  book  and  began  to  read  mechani 
cally.  Little  by  little  he  fixed  his  thoughts  on  his 
old  job  and  Dillingham.  What  a  splendid  chief  he 
was,  and  what  a  relief  to  be  back  with  him.  He 
puffed  his  pipe  and  glanced  at  Kate.  .  He  could  see 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  131 

that  she  was  nearing  the  end.  How  to  make  it  easy 
for  her?  She  finished,  and  there  was  a  little  pause, 
as  she  put  the  last  pages  with  the  rest.  Then  Peter 
spoke  up  quietly. 

uThe  book's  not  what  I  hoped,"  he  said.  "I've 
thought  it  out  pretty  clearly,  Kate ;  and,  if  you'll  just 
agree  with  me,  I  feel  pretty  sure  what  I'd  better  do." 

She  looked  up,  her  eyes  bright  with  the  wave  of 
relief  that  his  quiet  words  had  given  her. 

"Do  you  know  what  I've  been  thinking?"  In 
her  voice,  now  low  and  clear,  was  the  Scotch  burr 
of  years  ago.  And  he  noticed  it  and  thougjht, 
"That's  because  of  the  strain!  She's  been  sitting 
here  all  afternoon,  wondering  what  she'd  say  to 


me!' 


"I've  been  thinking,"  she  went  on,  "of  the  little 
old  man  you  told  me  about,  in  the  library,  who  was 
hunting  for  God.  When  he  read  the  book,  he  said, 
'If  I  were  you  I'd  be  very  proud  of  what  I  had  in 
me — even  if  I  couldn't  bring  it  all  out.'  '  As  he 
smiled  at  that  and  started  to  speak,  she  went  on 
quickly:  "This  book  may  succeed,  for  all  I  know. 
I'm  afraid  my  opinion  isn't  worth  much.  I  only 
know  one  simple  thing — that  it  held  me,  Peter,  oh  so 
hard!  You've  packed  so  much  into  it,  dear,  so 
much  more  than- you'll  ever  know !  But  it  does  seem 
to  me  to  need  more  work.  Why  don't  you  take  it  to 
Dillingham?" 


i32  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

"All  right,  I'll  do  that,  if  you  like — though  I 
think  I  know  what  he'll  advise.  But  remember, 
Kate."  For  a  moment  his  eyes  held  hers.  "I'm  not 
beaten  by  this.  I've  come  a  long  way.  It  has  taught 
me  a  good  many  things.  But  now  that  it's  over, 
there's  to  be  no  fuss  at  all — of  any  kind.  We've 
some  of  the  money  left,  thank  God,  and  we'll  be 
better  off  than  ever  before." 

And  she  came  and  kissed  him,  and  they  laughed, 
and  remembered  they  had  had  nothing  to  eat,  and 
so  they  got  supper  together.  And  with  the  long 
strain  of  suspense  at  an  end,  their  love  for  each 
other  rose  in  a  way  that  would  have  made  an  out 
sider  believe  they  were  celebrating  some  success, 
instead  of  a  failure,  in  their  lives. 

And  that  ended  it.  For  Dillingham,  after  he  had 
read  the  book,  told  Peter,  "I  don't  say  you  can't 
get  a  publisher.  Go  and  try  it  if  you  like.  But  my 
advice  is  to  lay  it  aside.  There's  a  big  book  here, 
and  you'll  write  it  some  day." 

"No — I  won't  write  it,"  Peter  said.  "But  at  any 
rate  I'm  glad  I  tried.  Can  you  give  me  back  my 
job  in  school?"  His  old  chief  gripped  his  hand  and 
said, 

"Yes,  I  need  you." 

"Good.    When  can  I  start?" 

"Next  week,  if  you  like.  But  don't  you  want  a 
little  rest?" 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  133 

"No,  I  don't  seem  to  feel  like  it  now." 
And  the  next  Monday  morning  at  nine  o'clock, 
spreading  open  on  his  desk  a  history  of  the  United 
States,  hesitating  for  a  time,  Peter  looked  out  at  his 
class  and  said, 

"Before  we  begin  with  Chapter  Eighteen,  I  ad 
vise  you  fellows — if  you  want  to  enjoy  yourselves  and 
learn  some  things  that'll  do  you  good — to  read  a 
book  by  Roosevelt,  called  The  Winning  of  the 
West.'  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 
i. 

HE  had  thought  that  to  get  back  into  the  old, 
familiar  work  would  be  a  relief,  but  it  was  not 
so.  The  long,  hot  summer  had  left  his  nerves  in  a 
state  that  played  queer  tricks  on  him.  In  school, 
toward  the  end  of  each  noisy  day,  his  whole  body 
ached;  over  his  eyes  was  a  throbbing  pain;  and  it 
was  all  that  he  could  do  to  keep  from  flying  into  a 
rage,  grabbing  each  small  offender  and  banging  him 
up  against  the  wall.  In  the  time  he  had  been  away 
from  all  this,  he  had  forgotten  what  it  was  like. 
The  demands  upon  him,  and  the  din  of  the  hard, 
shrill  voices,  never  stopped.  And  this  was  to  go  on 
and  on.  "I  had  my  chance  to  get  out  of  this  rut,  and 
missed  it!"  Now  he  realized  how  close  he  had  been 
to  success.  He  felt  the  strong  points  in  his  book, 
realized  what  a  boundless  wealth  of  life  he  had 
poured  into  it.  All  for  nothing!  He  thought  of 
mistakes  that  he  had  made,  and  came  out  of  his 
memories  face  to  face  with  failure.  "Yes,  old  boy, 
you're  through !  From  this  time  on  it's  middle  age, 

134 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  135 

and  the  rut  and  the  daily  grind  for  you !"  All  life  at 
such  times  seemed  level,  flat,  a  bleak  cold  marsh  of 
little  things. 

Still,  with  the  tenacious  force  that  had  always 
been  a  part  of  him,  he  kept  grimly  to  the  job.     "No 
squealing  now,  no  showing  this — not  a  sign!"  he 
would  command  himself.    And  when  he  went  home 
to  supper,  head  aching  and  no  appetite,  facing  an 
other  sleepless  night,   with   Kate   and   Susanna   he 
'never  let  the  pent-up  irritations  of  the  day  burst  out 
of  him.     When  at  times  Kate  could  not  keep  from 
showing  her  anxiety  in  questions,  he  would  answer, 
"Why  no,  Kate— I  feel  all  right/'  or  "No— today's 
been  pretty  easy."    And  he  would  read  until  late  at 
night.    His  pipe  was  a  great  companion. 

But  suddenly  there  came  a  night  when  he  needed 
every  ounce  of  his  new  strength  and  steadiness. 

The  old  brown  house  in  which  they  lived  fronted 
upon  Stuyvesant  Square,  but  its  side  windows  looked 
on  Second  Avenue;  and  down  this  broad  thorough 
fare  early  one  evening  came  abruptly  a  babel  of 
sounds — the  blare  and  boom  of  a  brass  band,  the  rau 
cous  honks  of  motor  horns  and  roars  of  cheers  and 
rushing  feet.  Peter  threw  open  a  window,  leaned 
out  and  saw  a  big  car  surrounded  by  crowds  and 
waving  flags.  The  next  moment,  growing  rigid,  he 
knew  that  it  was  Roosevelt,  swinging  down  through 
the  lower  East  Side,  down  into  the  tenements,  into 


136  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

the  commond  herds  of  men!  And,  as  the  roar  of 
cheering  rose  till  it  made  the  very  window  panes 
beside  him  shake  and  rattle,  a  hot  wave  of  resent 
ment  surged  up  in  Peter.  He  clenched  his  hands; 
and,  watching  the  burly  figure  below  stand  up  in  the 
car  and  wave  his  hat,  deep  within  himself  Peter 
cried, 

"What  right  have  you — what  right  have  you  to 
come  stirring  us  all  up  like  this?" 

But  he  did  not  speak.  With  his  big  fists  clenched 
and  every  muscle  taut,  he  stood  there  till  the  din  was 
gone.  For  he  knew  that  Kate  was  just  behind  him. 
At  last  he  heard  her  move  softly  away.  He  turned 
and  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  white  and  strained. 
Peter  shut  the  window.  The  receding  roar  of  sound 
was  cut  off,  and  in  the  sudden  quiet  the  room  inside 
felt  small  and  cramped.  Just  Kate  and  himself.  He 
drew  a  slow,  determined  breath.  "No  cheap  acting, 
ranting,  now.  Hold  on  to  yourself;  be  a  man." 
And,  in  the  next  few  moments,  it  was  as  though 
that  grip  on  himself  were  slowly,  slowly  squeezing 
up  something  hard  and  strong  and  bright,  like  bur 
nished,  gleaming  metal.  He  felt  it  rise.  At  last  he 
said: 

"When  you  think  of  all  that  fellow  can  be  before 
he  gets  through,  it  gives  you  a  new  hold  on  life. 
Oh  Kate,  I'm  so  glad  I  tried  that  book.  It  brought 
me  up  so  close  to  him." 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  137 

Then  he  heard  a  kind  of  a  sob.  She  swung  about 
and  came  to  him  quickly. 

uOh  Peter !  If  you  only  knew  how  I  love  you  for 
that!"  she  whispered.  He  held  her  tight. 

"No,  Kate,  no.  Just  slow — slow."  His  voice 
was  low  and  incoherent.  He  felt  her  trembling  like 
himself,  and  he  waited.  Then,  in  a  steady  tone: 
"But  it's  going  to  be  so  much  easier  now.  I  see  it 
all  so  clearly — just  what  it  is  I  want  to  do.  Re 
member  that  first  promotion  in  school?  There'll  be 
others — more  and  more.  Just  slowly,  slowly — more 
and  more." 

And  time  proved  that  he  was  right.  Life  did 
grow  easier  after  this;  for  by  keeping  up  the  outward 
show  of  steadiness  and  cheerfulness,  he  began  to 
feel  like  that  inside.  The  keen,  autumn  days  had 
come.  He  began  to  sleep  at  night,  and  the  pain 
above  his  eyes  was  no  longer  a  constant  torment.  In 
the  school,  as  he  grew  used  to  it,  the  work  no  longer 
irked  him  so;  and  he  relished  the  quiet  evenings 
at  home. 

So  the  stolid  Peter  of  every  day — having  buried 
for  good  and  all  the  rebellious  Peter  inside,  who 
had  made  so  much  trouble  all  these  years  with  his 
dreams  and  his  adventurings — began  once  more  to 
settle  down. 

2. 

And  the  new,  restless  spark  of  life,  which  he 


138  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

presently  felt  in  his  home  did  not  alarm  him  in  the 
least. 

It  dawned  upon  him  one  evening  that  Susanna 
was  fast  growing  up,  and  that  he  barely  knew  her 
now.  At  the  start,  it  had  not  been  so.  He  looked 
wistfully  back  to  the  time  when  she  was  an  adorable 
little  thing,  when  her  voice  had  been  soft,  with  the 
tenderest  notes,  and  her  laugh  had  gone  deep  into 
him.  He  had  read  Mother  Goose  to  her.  They 
had  laid  out  a  farm  with  blocks  on  the  floor.  Peter's 
big  chair  had  become  a  mountain.  The  old  wolf's 
lair  had  been  up  there ;  and  lambs  had  been  carried 
off  from  the  farm  and  rescued  in  the  nick  of  time  by 
a  good  old  dog  who,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
but  one  leg,  could  invariably  be  counted  on  to  pro 
duce  the  happy  ending.  .  .  .  But,  in  kindergarten 
and  later  in  school,  she  had  grown  shrill,  like  all  the 
rest  whom  he  had  to  face  in  his  classroom;  and,  in 
the  worry  of  those  years  when  it  had  been  hard  to 
make  ends  meet,  she  had  become  an  irritation,  chat 
tering,  demanding,  asking  countless  questions.  More 
and  more  he  had  put  her  off — or  rather,  Kate  had 
kept  her  away.  .  .  .  But  now  that  Peter  had  come 
again  to  one  of  the  quiet  times  in  his  life,  he  woke 
up  to  the  fact  that  she  was  a  stranger.  And,  when 
he  tried  to  make  friends  with  her,  he  came  up  against 
a  veritable  wall  of  reserves  and  false  conceptions 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  139 

which  this  queer  little  daughter  of  his  seemed  to 
have  raised  against  him. 

"It's  my  own  fault,"  he  decided.  "I've  been 
wrapped  up  in  the  grand  importance  of  my  own 
dull  little  life.  Here's  a  life  a  thousand  times  as 
fresh  and  sweet  and  new  as  mine,  that  has  sprung  up 
right  under  my  nose.  I'm  missing  it.  She's  nine 
years  old,  and  she  has  learned  to  look  at  me,  not  as 
her  Dad,  but  as  one  of  those  dry  cantankerous  killers 
of  joy  known  to  her  as  'teachers.'  When  I  come 
home,  it's  a  sign  for  Susanna  to  settle  right  down. 
And  Susanna  hates  to  settle  down !  She  loathes  the 
job  of  being  good  and  not  making  a  noise  to  bother 
her  father.  Bother  me — why  shouldn't  she?  What 
else  am  I  here  for,  I'd  like  to  know!"  He  worked 
himself  into  a  state  of  virtuous  indignation  against  a 
hard,  selfish  father  by  the  name  of  Peter  Wells. 
"Now,"  he  concluded,  "I  propose  to  show  her  what 
a  teacher  can  be!" 

He  took  her  to  the  circus ;  and  there,  warming  up 
to  his  new  role,  he  treated  the  amazed  little  girl  to 
an  ice  cream  cone,  and  peanuts  and  candy  on  top 
of  that.  Susanna  was  sick  in  bed  for  two  days,  but 
Peter  was  not  at  all  abashed.  When  he  heard  her 
ask,  in  a  perplexed  and  awe-struck  tone,  "Mother, 
what  in  the  world  has  happened  to  Dad?"  Peter 
thrilled  with  a  new  delight.  "I'll  show  her  what  has 


140  BEGGARS1  GOLD 

happened!"  And,  not  to  be  discouraged  by  many 
failures,  slight  rebuffs  and  looks  of  blank  surprise,  he 
helped  her  with  her  lessons  at  night,  discovered  her 
troubles  and  showed  her  short  cuts;  and,  with  noth- 
ing  but  a  dull  geography  book  as  a  starting  point, 
he  took  her  on  travels  to  the  Far  East.  Mute 
and  very  still  at  first,  as  they  journeyed  on  he  felt 
Susanna's  small  hand  on  his  arm;  in  a  low,  thrilling 
voice  certain  questions  were  asked.  He  found  that 
his  daughter  liked  to  know  just  how  they  travelled 
on  sea  or  land;  on  ship,  on  train,  on  river  boat,  in 
rickshaw  or  on  camel's  back;  she  wanted  to  know 
just  what  to  wear,  and  about  the  meals  and  the  beds 
at  night.  So  he  grew  careful  and  exact;  and,  with 
these  matters  settled,  they  looked  together  at  the 
East.  Once,  in  a  sharp,  excited  voice,  she  asked, 

"Have  you  taken  many  trips  like  this?" 

"Oh  yes — all  my  life,  my  dear." 

And  that  night,  as  they  played  parchesi,  he  told 
her  how  it  had  been  played  in  India  long,  long  ago 
• — with  a  spacious  court  in  place  of  the  board,  and 
in  place  of  counters  beautiful  slave  girls  moving 
about  as  the  game  went  on. 

"What  did  they  wear?"  she  demanded.  And,  as 
her  huge  father  tried  to  describe  to  her  those  gar 
ments,  into  his  small  daughter's  eyes  came  a  look 
amused  and  pitying. 

This  was  not  all  steadily  done.    The  winning  of 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  141 

Susanna  proceeded  most  unevenly;  now  it  was  rapid, 
now  very  slow.  There  were  evenings  when  he  was 
made  to  feel  that  she  did  not  want  him  at  all,  and 
at  such  times  he  was  nothing  loath  to  go  back  to 
his  evening  paper.  But,  long  before  the  winter  was 
over,  the  affair  had  come  to  a  stage  where  Susanna 
in  a  talkative  mood  would  chatter  away  to  her  father 
as  though  she  had  known  him  all  her  life,  about  her 
school,  her  best  girl  friends  and  a  club  that  they 
had  organized.  She  even  confided  to  him  one  night 
her  guilty  feeling  over  the  way  she  could  not  yet 
make  up  her  mind  to  put  dolls  aside.  "I  know  it's 
silly  at  my  age !"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  sat  beside 
him  sewing,  her  blue-ribboned  pigtails  bobbing,  her 
blue  eyes  intent  on  her  work.  As  she  talked  on 
about  her  dolls  and  how  hard  it  was  to  leave  them 
behind,  from  the  fresh  and  radiant  depths  within 
her  this  mothering  passion  came  up  with  a  force 
that  made  her  silent  father  feel,  with  a  mingling  of 
pleasure  and  pain,  how  immense  were  the  life  forces 
playing  with  this  little  girl. 

At  times  she  would  bring  home  a  friend  from  the 
big  public  school  nearby.  One  night,  with  a  small 
Jewish  girl,  as  they  sewed  in  the  other  room,  Peter 
heard  Susanna  exclaim  in  a  shocked  tone, 

"Why  Sarah  Blumberg!" 

"I  tell  you,"  came  the  voice  of  her  friend,  "there 
isn't  any  God  at  all." 


I42  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

Peter  looked  up  with  a  start  and  saw  them  through 
the  open  door.  The  small  Jewess,  stout  and  stu 
dious,  with  spectacles  over  solemn  black  eyes,  held 
doggedly  to  her  assertion,  and  for  some  time  they 
fought  it  out.  Susanna  had  not  many  weapons,  but 
she  was  game  for  an  argument. 

"How  do  you  know  there  is  no  God?  How  do 
you  positively  know?"  she  demanded,  in  a  withering 
tone. 

"My  big  brother  told  me  so!     So  there!" 

"Oh."  There  was  silence.  "But  how  does  he 
know?" 

"Out  of  books — the  very  best  ones.  My  brother 
has  read  thousands.  He  reads  all  night.  He  never 
sleeps." 

"Never  sleeps!  I'll  bet  he  does!  You've  got  to 
sleep!" 

"How  do  you  know?    Have  you  ever  tried  it?" 

"I  don't  care— I'll  bet  there's  a  God.  If  there 
isn't,  how  were  we  all  born?  Where  did  we  come 
from?  What  was  the  world  before  the  world?" 

"Science!"  came  the  quick  reply  to  this  volley  of 
questions.  "Science  can  show  you  all  about  that. 
To  Science  it  is  clear  as  day." 

"Have  you  read  Science,  may  I  ask?" 

"No,  I  haven't — and  you  neither!  But  my  broth 
er  has  read  every  word  of  it !  'Don';:  you  let  'em  fool 
you,'  he  says  to  me.  'Our  father  and  mother  are 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  143 

old  Jews  who  can't  even  read  English.  Don't  let  'em 
fool  you !  Science  says  there  is  no  God.  Science  says 
there  is  nothing  at  all  unless  you  can  prove  it  al 
ready — exact!'  Do  you  know  what  Science  can 
do  with  the  stars?  You  see  a  star,  way  up  in  the 
sky.  Is  it  a  million  miles  from  the  earth,  or  a  mil 
lion  miles  and  three  feet  and  two  inches?  Science 
can  tell  you!" 

Here  Susanna's  voice  cut  in,  sharp  and  clear,  tri 
umphant: 

"Sarah  Blumberg,  that  is  simply  too  ridiculous 
for  any  words !  Where  could  they  start  measuring 
from — where  do  you  think  the  earth  begins?  Down 
there  on  Second  Avenue,  or  in  this  room,  or  up  on 
the  roof?  Three  feet  and  two  inches!  If  that's 
Science,  Sarah  Blumberg,  you  can  keep  it  to  your 
self.  There's  a  lot  of  things  I  don't  yet  understand 
and  I'm  glad  I  don't.  If  there  is  a  God — and  I'll 
bet  there  is — he's  so  perfectly  enormous  you 
couldn't  possibly  measure  him  out !  Three — feet — 
and — two — inches!"  Again  the  devastating  scorn. 
"Did  you  ever  notice  that  big  god  out  there  in  the 
sitting  room?" 

"What?"  gasped  the  startled  scientist.  uWhat 
do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  exactly  what  I  say.  That  big  yellow 
Chinese  god.  It's  my  mother's.  She's  been  in  China, 
you  know."  Susanna's  voice  had  now  a  calm  su- 


i44  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

periority.  "She  says  the  world  is  full  of  gods — and 
religions — and  they're  wonderful !" 

"Are  your  parents  orthodox?"  came  the  loud 
shocked  whisper. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Orthodox!  You  mean  you  don't  know  what 
orthodox  is?"  The  scientist  was  now  gaining 
ground,  but  Susanna  cut  her  off. 

"Orthodox?  Of  course  I  know !  And  they're  not 
— they  wouldn't  consider  it !  Science  neither !  They 
don't  brag  about  sitting  up  all  night  and  reading 
when  they  should  be  asleep.  But  they  know  more 
about  gods — of  all  kinds — in  their  little  fingers — 
than  your  big  brother  in  all  his  books !  Now,  Sarah 
Blumberg,  my  advice  to  you  is  to  leave  God  alone 
and  attend  to  your  children.  Their  clothes  and 
shoes  are  too  shocking  for  words!" 

"I  can't  help  it — I'm  poor!" 

"You  are  not  poor!  You  spent  eight  cents  this 
very  day — on  candy!  And  the  way  you  get  every 
thing  sticky  you  touch  is  perfectly  disgusting!  You 
positively  stick  to  your  children!" 

At  this  moment  Kate  came  through  and  shut  the 
door  behind  her.  Peter  leaned  back  with  a  curious 
smile.  So  self-important  and  comic  at  times  was 
this  little  daughter  of  his — so  small,  so  tremendous, 
so  very  dear. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  145 

3- 

As  the  winter  drifted  on,  though  there  still  came 
to  Peter  ugly  moments  of  regret  at  the  thought  of 
the  opportunity  lost,  he  grew  steadily  more  recon 
ciled.  At  school  he  began  to  do  extra  work  for 
Dillingham,  and  by  degrees  he  came  more  and  more 
to  feel  the  rugged  strength  of  the  man  and  of  his 
philosophy. 

One  Saturday  night  the  old  principal  asked  Peter 
and  Kate  to  come  to  supper  in  his  home.  It  was  a 
small  apartment  in  a  dilapidated  house  a  little  south 
of  Washington  Square.  He  had  lived  there  half 
his  life.  "I'm  a  curio  in  this  town,"  he  said,  "I 
haven't  budged  for  thirty  years.  Same  home,  same 
school.  And  I'm  hopeless  now.  Grown  too  fond 
of  'em  both  to  change."  In  his  old  fashioned  living 
room,  the  furniture,  rugs  and  pictures  were  all  mel 
low  with  the  years;  but  on  the  walls  and  all  about 
were  fresh  accumulations  out  of  the  ever  growing 
activities  in  his  big  school.  The  room  had  an  air 
both  old  and  young.  As  he  usually  did  on  Saturday 
night,  he  had  let  his  servant  go,  and  he  cooked  the 
supper  himself.  Later,  when  they  had  settled  down 
to  smoke  before  the  small  coal  fire,  he  gave  them 
bits  about  his  life.  And,  though  most  of  the  time  he 
seemed  talking  to  Kate,  every  word  was  aimed  at  her 
husband. 


146  BEGGARS1  GOLD 

"I  made  up  my  youngster  mind/'  he  said,  "to  be 
a  college  president.  How  gloriously  solemn  I  was 
when  I  got  my  first  big  chance — a  college  about  the 
size  of  a  peanut — perched  on  the  bank  of  the  Ohio. 
It  was  down  in  Kentucky,  near  the  place  where  I  was 
born."  He  told  how  he  had  slaved  for  years  to 
build  up  the  forlorn  little  center  of  learning,  and  how 
in  the  end  a  certain  old  Kentucky  feud  had  come  in 
to  spoil  it  all.  "So  I  was  ousted;  and  on  the  whole 
I  was  glad  of  it,"  he  went  on.  "Ever  since  I  left 
Columbia,  I  had  felt  a  hankering  for  the  city  of 
New  York.  So  back  I  came.  I  was  thirty-one — and 
now  I'm  over  sixty.  And  I'm  not  a  college  presi 
dent,  but  I've  made  one,  out  of  a  boy  in  our  school. 
And  I  guess  I've  made  a  judge  or  two,  and  three  or 
four  State  Senators,  God  help  me,  and  some  million 
aires  in  the  wholesale  clothing  business — and  some 
first-class  burglars,  too,  and  murderers,  and  a  pretty 
young  thing  who  has  the  whole  town  at  her  feet — 
she's  dancing  up  at  Weber  and  Field's.  'I've  made 
'em  all,'  I  like  to  say,  with  a  glow  of  conscious 
pride.  But  how  much  had  I  to  do  with  it? 

"You're  over  twenty  years  younger,  Peter — I 
wonder  how  you'll  feel  at  my  age  ?  You  can  go  on 
steadily  up,  if  you  want,  and  most  likely  get  my 
job  when  I  step  out — I  hope  you  will.  If  you  do, 
will  you  feel  the  same  as  I?  The  world  changes  so 
fast,  it's  hard  to  tell  how  a  man  will  feel  in  twenty 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  147 

years — but  some  things  go  pretty  deep,  and  there's 
one  feeling  in  us  all  that's  likely  to  stay  about  the 
same."  He  smiled  and  frowned  a  little,  wrinkling 
his  brows  a  bit  over  the  smoke  of  his  cigar.  "It's 
this — this  rising  feeling — this  sense  of  having  such  a 
lot  inside  of  us  when  we  are  young.  Up  it  comes; 
and,  as  each  one  of  us  makes  his  solemn  little  attempt 
to  flash  his  light  up  to  the  stars,  he  gets  to  feeling 
like  God  Almighty.  Then,  in  most  cases,  down  it 
goes,  and  he  feels  like  a  man  again.  And  after 
many  such  ups  and  downs  he  gets  used  to  this  feeling. 
It's  like  an  old  friend.  'Hello — you  here  again?' 
he  says.  'Good-morning.'  And  presently,  'Good 
night.'  For  down  it  sinks  again  to  sleep.  And  the 
sleeps  grow  longer — longer. 

"But  I'm  not  at  all  sorry  about  growing  old.  I 
like  it.  I  was  never  in  all  my  days  so  happy  as  now. 
In  a  queer  way  I  feel  younger,  too.  And  the  reason 
is,  I  suppose,  that  way  down  inside  of  me,  where 
so  much  goes  on  that  we  don't  understand,  this  ris 
ing  feeling  has  widened  out — till  suddenly  I've 
waked  up  to  the  fact  that  it's  in  all  people  as  well  as 
in  me,  and  that  I'm  much  more  interested  in  watch 
ing  its  countless  ups  and  downs  in  others  than  in  my 
self  alone.  My  own  little  dream  of  bumping  the 
stars  is  dead,  but  in  others  it  lives  on.  'The  King  is 
dead.  Long  live  the  King.'  And,  as  I  watch  this 
feeling  rise  in  thousands  of  young  people,  I'm  always 


148  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

finding  something  new.  I've  got  over  the  idea  that 
I  can  do  much  to  mould  their  lives.  Instead  of  that, 
I  watch  'em  all — just  giving  a  hand  to  'em  now  and 
then,  or  pointing  and  saying,  'Look  over  there. 
There's  something  you  are  missing.' 

"There's  nothing  new  in  all  this,  of  course.  We 
all  of  us  know  it,  as  a  fact.  But  as  more  than  a 
fact,  as  a  feeling  that  soaks  all  through  you — it's 
immense.  It's  big  as  all  democracy.  It  makes  you 
wish  you  had  more  time  to  watch  and  listen  and  un 
derstand.  I  used  to  watch  you,  Peter,  learning  all 
those  languages,  and  more  than  once  I  wondered 
why.  But  I  envy  you  now  and  curse  myself  for  my 
own  laziness  in  the  past.  For  I'd  like  to  listen  to 
New  York  in  every  one  of  its  many  queer  tongues — 
queer  to  me,  but  to  the  man  or  woman  or  child 
that  speaks  it,  intimate  and  dear." 

All  through  this  rambling  talk  of  his  chief,  Peter 
could  feel  a  vein  of  encouragement  meant  for  him 
self.  And  the  question  flashed  into  his  mind:  "I  won 
der  if  Kate  put  him  up  to  this?" 

They  went  that  night  to  an  old  Bowery  theatre 
where  an  Italian  company  was  giving  Trovatore. 
The  house  was  packed;  people  sat  in  the  aisles;  small 
boys  and  girls  with  joyous  eyes  squeezed  their  way 
in  and  out  of  the  throng;  the  boxes  bulged  with 
families;  on  every  hand  were  solemn  babies  nursing 
at  their  mothers'  breasts.  And,  as  the  old  opera 


BEGGARS1  GOLD  149 

lumbered  slowly  on  its  way,  there  were  explosive 
bursts  of  laughter,  hisses,  and  long  silences.  Here 
was  felt  no  worry  about  getting  on  in  life;  here  was 
a  place  to  watch  and  listen.  Peter  felt  relaxed  and 
warm.  And  later,  on  his  way  home  with  Kate,  he 
knew  that  she  was  happy. 

"What  a  big  human  specimen  Dillingham  is,"  he 
remarked.  At  first  there  was  no  reply.  Then  she 
said, 

"You  know,  Peter,  a  life  like  that — it  seems  to  me 
about  as  big  and  fine  as  anything  one  could  ask 
for."  And,  although  she  did  not  add,  "And  that's 

how  you  are  going  to  be "  he  understood  as 

though  she  had  spoken.  He  waited  a  moment,  and 
then  he  replied, 

"And  yet  he's  a  poor  devil,  Kate." 

And  she  knew  what  he  meant,  and  squeezed  his 
arm. 

At  home,  long  after  she  was  asleep,  he  got  up  and 
came  into  the  other  room.  He  lit  his  pipe  and 
settled  back  with  a  sense  of  solid  comfort.  What  a 
familiar  presence  here.  No  more  leaps  into  the  dark; 
no  more  strain,  uncertainty.  The  words  of  his  old 
chief  recurred:  "Time  to  watch  and  listen."  He 
picked  up  the  evening  paper.  He  had  not  had  time 
to  read  it  tonight.  On  the  front  page  his  atten 
tion  was  caught  by  the  headline :  "One  More  Sena 
tor  Joins  the  Ananias  Club."  With  a  gleam  of  relish 


150  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

Peter's  eye  travelled  down  the  column.  "What  a 
game  proposition  Teddy  is,  when  it  comes  to  a 
fight,"  he  was  thinking.  "He  made  a  bad  slip  in 
that  Tuesday  speech  and  got  himself  into  a  hole. 
But  now  watch  him  get  out  of  it!"  And  he  read, 
"In  making  that  statement  Senator  Brown  told  a 
wilful  and  deliberate  and  unmitigated  untruth." 
Peter  chuckled.  "Go  it,  Teddy  boy — you  may  be  a 
little  wrong  now  and  then,  but  by  Golly  you're  pretty 
right  through  it  all!"  Hungrily  he  read  the  rest. 
"I'll  bet  he  gets  away  with  it." 

Peter  tossed  the  paper  aside,  knocked  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe,  put  out  the  light  and  went  to  bed. 


One  afternoon  soon  after  this,  having  had  a 
crowded  day  in  school,  Peter  spent  an  hour  uptown 
looking  into  several  shops  for  a  small  gift  for 
Susanna.  Her  birthday  was  now  close  ahead.  At 
last  he  found  what  he  wanted,  and  with  a  feeling 
of  great  satisfaction  and  relief  he  started  home. 
But,  on  coming  into  the  flat,  he  learned  that  Susanna 
had  a  bad  cold.  She  was  in  bed,  flushed  and  hoarse. 
And  the  old,  familiar,  sinking  feeling  came  to  Peter 
out  of  the  past.  Suddenly  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  gave  him  a  look  of  impatient  reproach  for  being 
so  late.  She  wanted  to  get  away  from  this  bed 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  151 

and  take  "a  long  cool  trip"  with  him.  So  Peter 
sat  down,  and  her  hand  clutched  his,  and  soon  they 
were  journeying  far  away  over  cool  seas  and  be 
neath  quiet  stars — away  from  this  hot  fever,  this 
loud,  hoarse  breathing  that  scared  him  so.  In  an 
hour  Susanna  was  asleep. 

But  the  next  night  when  he  came  home  he  found 
it  was  pneumonia;  and,  as  Peter  sat  by  the  bed, 
with  a  dull,  benumbing  ache  of  fear  he  realized  what 
she  meant  to  him.  "Time  to  watch  and  listen." 
Rigid,  he  watched  her  heaving  chest  and  listened  to 
the  quick,  rough  breaths.  And,  as  the  night  wore 
slowly  on  and  at  times  there  came  a  spasm  that 
seemed  to  tear  and  rend  her,  he  huddled  forward, 
mountainous,  every  muscle  straining,  as  though  to 
lift  the  pain  away.  On  the  other  side  of  the  bed, 
he  saw  Kate  doing  various  things,  tense  and  deft. 
In  a  whisper  he  asked, 

"Are  you  sure  of  that  doctor?  How  about  call 
ing  in  somebody  else?"  She  shook  her  head.  "Or 
getting  a  nurse?" 

"No,  I  can  handle  this,"  she  said. 

The  windows  were  open  now;  it  was  cold. 
Toward  morning  Peter  fell  asleep — and  wakened 
with  a  violent  start.  Dawn  was  creeping  into  the 
room;  and  Kate  with  the  doctor  was  at  the  door. 
Peter  stared  at  them,  mute  and  numb.  The  loud 
hoarse  breathing  beside  him  had  stopped.  Why? 


152  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

He  did  not  dare  to  look  at  the  bed.  Then  Kate 
turned  back,  and  in  the  soft  glow  of  the  lamp  he 
caught  the  glad  relief  in  her  eyes.  She  came  to 
him,  and  as  she  came  she  seemed  to  bring  with  her 
a  rush  of  new  life. 

"The  crisis  is  past.  She's  better  now." 
Evening  after  evening  he  watched  Susanna  get 
back  her  strength.  And  they  took  long  journeys 
as  before,  and  he  brought  her  small  surprises.  He 
utterly  spoiled  this  little  girl.  And,  when  she  had 
gone  asleep,  he  had  long  talks  about  her  with  Kate. 
He  could  see  how  the  strain  had  told  on  Kate,  in 
spite  of  her  impatient  denials.  Her  face  was  grey, 
and  there  were  shadows  under  her  resolute  brown 
eyes.  "We  won't  take  any  more  risks,"  he  said. 
"You're  going  South  with  Susanna."  They  drew 
very  close  in  the  next  few  nights,  making  plans  with 
a  love  grown  quiet  and  deep  in  the  relief  of  the 
danger  passed.  A  week  later,  Kate  and  Susanna 
started  off  for  Florida.  They  were  gone  six  weeks. 
Then  at  last  they  were  back,  browned  by  the  sun 
and  full  of  new  vitality.  And,  though  the  money 
they  had  saved  was  gone  again,  the  spring  had 
come;  and,  without  trying  to  think  it  out,  he  knew 
that  he  was  entering  upon  a  new  stage  in  his  life. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  153 


Slowly  a  change  was  coming  in  his  whole  feeling 
toward  the  school.  The  old  sardonic  hardness  in 
his  attitude  was  mellowing.  Susanna  and  her  ill 
ness  had  made  such  a  difference.  Now,  when  a 
boy  in  his  class  fell  sick,  Peter  went  to  his  tenement 
and  there  did  what  he  could  to  help.  He  would 
often  stay  till  late  at  night.  There  were  many 
demands  of  this  kind;  and,  growl  as  he  would,  he 
could  not  resist  them.  He  took  more  and  more 
evening  work,  clubs  and  classes  in  the  school.  Deeper 
and  deeper  he  was  drawn  in.  Not  at  once,  but 
slowly  through  the  years,  his  own  personal  strain 
ing  to  rise  was  little  by  little  merged  and  made  a 
part  of  this  vaster  rising,  this  prodigious  battle 
for  the  children  of  New  York.  "He  that  loseth 
his  life  shall  find  it."  Peter  Wells  was  finding  it 
now.  Through  all  the  din  and  jangle  and  rasping 
irritations  he  moved,  a  big  sluggish  man  of  middle 
age,  making  no  show  of  what  lay  beneath;  but  as 
time  went  on  he  could  feel  the  tenacious  strength  of 
his  personality  grow  and  make  its  impress  upon  the 
life  about  him. 

Once  more  he  won  promotion.  He  was  an  as 
sistant  principal  now,  and  his  activities  increased. 
At  the  head  of  all  the  schools  in  that  section  of  the 
town  was  a  deputy  superintendent — "Old  Granite," 


154  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

he  was  often  called;  a  man  barely  fifty  but  old  in 
spirit,  rigid  against  every  change.  Against  him, 
with  a  grim  enjoyment,  John  Dillingham  had  fought 
for  years.  Into  the  plots  and  conspiracies  Peter 
entered  with  deepening  zest;  and  soon  he  was  plan 
ning  campaigns  of  his  own — to  change  this  school, 
to  make  of  it  a  rich,  free,  vital  center  of  life,  to 
demand  and  obtain  a  "square  deal"  for  these  chil 
dren,  to  fight  for  their  health,  to  go  into  their 
homes  and  see  that  they  were  fed  and  clothed,  to 
bring  their  parents  into  the  school  to  help  in  the 
fight  for  better  things,  to  change  the  teaching  and 
make  it  grip  the  keen  fresh  minds  and  imaginations 
of  these  little  citizens.  Education,  warm,  vital, 
throbbing,  alive!  In  this  absorbing  battle,  Peter 
was  drawn  steadily  deeper  into  the  crowded  tene 
ment  life,  its  challenge  and  its  problems,  its  hungry 
aspirations. 

A  Russian  Jewish  boy  of  sixteen,  dark,  slim  and 
precocious,  took  Peter  one  night  to  see  a  play,  in  a 
little  theatre  up  over  a  tobacco  shop.  The  play 
had  been  staged  by  friends  of  his,  and  it  was  called 
"The  Candle."  The  curtain  rose  on  darkness.  Then 
was  heard  a  baby's  cry,  and  at  the  same  moment 
a  tiny  flame  of  light  appeared.  It  came  from  a 
tall  candle  there.  As  in  scene  after  scene  the  life 
of  a  man  from  birth  to  death  was  roughly  sketched, 
the  candle  kept  burning  lower,  lower.  And  the 


BEGGARS5  GOLD  155 

effect  was  breathless.  It  was  as  though  from  all 
over  the  narrow,  stifling  room,  packed  with  the 
youth  of  the  tenements,  came  a  whisper,  "Go  on! 
Go  on!  Go  on!  Can't  you  see  how  fast  it's  burn 
ing?  And  it's  your  life!  It's  all  you  have!  Stop 
waiting,  wasting,  holding  back!"  When  at  last  the 
light  went  out,  that  silence  in  the  darkness  was  held 
for  a  moment — and  then  a  breath,  long,  deep  and 
quivering,  was  heard. 

Old  memories  stirred  in  Peter  that  night,  but 
gone  was  the  sharp  pang  of  regret. 

"This  is  my  life.     Here  I  am  strong.'1 

6. 

In  the  meantime,  through  those  crowded  years, 
Susanna  had  grown  into  her  'teens,  and,  with  the 
delightful  egotism  of  her  age,  was  demanding  more 
and  more  of  Peter's  time  and  interest.  Helping  in 
her  lessons  and  trying  to  answer  honestly  the  ques 
tions  she  poured  out  on  him;  listening  to  her  per 
plexities  and  the  sudden  troubles  that  loomed  enor 
mous  to  her  mind ;  gravely  listening,  all  intent,  with 
a  grunt  or  a  nod  and  hardly  ever  the  sign  of  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes,  as  his  important  and  self-en 
grossed  young  daughter  chattered  on;  delighting  in 
her  triumphs  and  sympathizing  in  her  woes,  plan 
ning  small  surprises  and  sprees  and  celebrations — ? 


156  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

it  seemed  to  Peter  sometimes  as  though  she  were 
the  fresh  deep  source  of  all  the  lively  interest  he 
threw  into  his  work  at  school.  With  Kate  he  loved 
to  plan  and  contrive  for  Susanna's  education.  They 
wanted  to  give  her  everything — abundant  health  and 
hosts  of  friends,  music,  college,  travel  abroad.  The 
vistas  stretched  into  the  years,  and  back  to  them 
both  came  the  long  buried  hunger  to  journey  far 
and  explore  this  fascinating  earth — to  do  it  with 
Susanna. 

So,  with  the  life  of  his  home  and  his  school 
crowding  one  into  the  other,  making  constant  new 
demands  and  as  constantly  pouring  in  fresh  hopes 
and  interests  and  dreams,  this  changing,  deepening, 
settling  life  of  Peter  Wells  wore  rapidly  on.  There 
was  grey  in  his  heavy  shock  of  hair,  strong  mark 
ings  'round  his  mouth  and  eyes;  for  the  cares  and 
the  anxieties  and  responsibilities  piled  up.  Year 
after  year  the  grind  went  on.  At  last,  one  day  at 
close  of  school,  Dillingham  swung  around  in  his 
big  swivel  chair  and  said, 

"I've  some  news  for  you.  The  principal  in 
School  Thirty-eight  has  died,  and  you  are  next  in 
line." 

Peter  had  won  his  principal's  license  some  time 
before,  and  had  been  on  the  waiting  list.  But  now 
for  a  moment  he  made  no  reply.  With  mingled 
feelings  he  looked  at  his  chief. 


! 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  157 

"You  don't  want  to  leave,"  said  Dillingham. 

"That's  it." 

"And  I  don't  want  to  have  you.  Sitting  here 
I've  been  thinking  of  all  that  we've  been  able  to 
do  in  these  last  years  by  working  together.  It  isn't 
much — we've  just  made  a  start.  And  Fm  nearly 
seventy,  Peter — the  job's  beginning  to  tell  on  me. 
I  can't  go  on  much  longer.  And  when  I  quit  I 
want  you  here  to  drive  it  on,  this  work  of  ours.  I 
want  it  so  much  that  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  send 
in  my  resignation  now  instead  of  a  little  later." 

"No!"  said  Peter  sharply. 

"Yes,"  said  his  chief.  "If  I  wait,  I'll  have  to 
give  my  place  to  a  stranger.  I  don't  want  to.  I 
want  you.  I've  already  talked  about  it  uptown. 
There  were  difficulties,  of  course;  but,  because  I've 
refused  promotion  and  stuck  to  this  school  for  so 
many  years,  I've  been  able  to  make  'em  stretch  a 
point  in  our  favor.  With  you  here,  as  I  explained, 
I  can  still  be  right  behind  you."  A  hungry  look 
came  on  his  face.  "I'll  be  here  most  of  the  time, 
I  guess."  Peter  gripped  his  hand  and  said, 

"If  you  aren't,  I'll  know  the  reason  why!" 

When  he  told  the  news  to  Kate,  she  said,  "Oh, 
Peter,  I'm  so  glad"  And  as  he  held  her  in  his 
arms  he  felt  her  trembling.  "Didn't  I  know  you 
had  it  in  you,  all  the  time?  It's  come  at  last!  And 
now  we  haven't  the  least  idea  how  far  we'll  go — 


158  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

all  the  rest  of  our  lives !"  They  sat  down  and  be 
gan  to  talk  and  plan,  but  their  talk  was  all  in  frag 
ments.  Each  of  them  kept  stopping  to  listen  for 
Susanna.  Soon  they  heard  her  quick  step  outside, 
an  impatient  turn  of  her  key  in  the  door.  In  she 
came,  with  her  bundle  of  books,  and  tossed  them 
<lown.  She  was  well  along  in  high  school  now — 
small  for  her  age,  slim,  wiry,  dark,  with  vivid  blue 
eyes.  As  she  took  off  her  hat  she  was  humming 
a  song.  "Oh  Mother,  I'm  terribly  late!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "It's  Friday  night,  you  know — dance  at 
school!"  Peter  watched  her,  smiling,  and  said, 
"Susanna,  I've  some  news  for  you." 
"What  is  it?"  And  when  he  began  to  tell  her, 
suddenly  getting  it  all  in  a  flash,  she  broke  in,  with 
a  little  rush.  "Oh  you  darling,  wonderful  Dad!" 
Into  his  arms  Susanna  came  and  hugged  him  tight. 
And,  as  though  in  this  room  some  secret  spring 
of  emotions  had  been  sprung,  all  three  broke  into 
a  medley  of  excited  chatter,  laughter,  sudden  inter 
ruptions.  In  less  than  no  time  Petbr  was  made 
School  Superintendent  of  New  York.  "And  by  that 
time,"  Susanna  cried,  "there'll  be  a  million  pupils ! 
And  every  one  will  be  under  the  thumb  of  a  man 
by  the  name  of  Peterkin  Wells — who  happens  to 
be  my  father!" 

Late  that  night,  when  he  was  alone,  Peter's  mind 
went  back  through  the  years.     From  the  time  of 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  159 

those  frosty  mountain  nights  when  as  a  boy  he  had 
hurried  down  to  his  uncle's  store  and  found  the 
shaggy,  gnarled,  old  man  waiting  for  him  with  his 
stamps  and  his  dreams  that  roamed  out  over  the 
earth,  figure  after  figure  came  up  in  Peter's  memory. 
And  the  look  which  came  in  his  grey  eyes  was  com 
pounded  of  various  feelings,  whimsical,  yet  very 
deep.  He  had  known  so  many  men  who  had  failed, 
and  how  often  they  were  finer  and  more  humanly 
appealing  than  those  few  who  had  won  success. 

"How  much  we  all  have  in  ourselves,  both  good 
and  bad,  and  how  it's  kept  down.  I  wonder  what 
the  world  would  be  like  if  every  mother's  son  of 
us  became  what  he  might  have  been?" 

For  a  moment,  as  though  the  eyes  of  his  spirit 
were  looking  at  some  vast  and  mad  and  flaming 
panorama,  over  the  heavy  sensitive  face  of  Peter 
Wells  there  came  the  look  which  is  bound  to  come 
upon  the  face  of  any  man  who  looks  off  and  far 
away  into  the  prodigious  wonder  of  what  this  human 
existence  upon  the  earth  is  to  become,  in  the  mil 
lions  of  years  that  rise  ahead.  Startled,  as  though 
in  some  weird  trance  his  spirit  had  been  suddenly 
flung  to  a  clear  and  radiant  height  above  the  grey, 
familiar  clouds.  "Mad!"  he  muttered.  "Utterly 
mad!  Every  one  of  hundreds  of  millions  of  com 
mon  little  folk  like  me,  all  to  be  some  day  like  that? 
The  very  stars  would  tumble  down!"  With  a  smile 


160  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

and  a  long  quivering  breath  he  dropped  back  to 
that  present  year  of  Nineteen  Hundred  and  Twelve 
A.D.,  when  all  sensible  people  knew  that  no  prodi 
gious  happening  of  any  kind  was  any  more  to  shake 
this  steady  world  of  ours.  Back  he  came  into  his 
own  small  life. 

"Thank  God,  so  far  as  I'm  concerned,  it's  settled 
now  for  the  rest  of  my  days." 


CHAPTER  V. 
i. 

IT  was  early  one  night  the  following  autumn. 
Susanna  was  out — at  some  school  affair;  and 
Peter  and  Kate  had  settled  down  to  a  long  quiet 
evening,  with  some  work  he  had  brought  home  in 
order  to  get  her  advice.  For  him  the  last  few 
weeks  had  been  filled  with  the  numberless  adjust 
ments  which  came  at  the  start  of  the  new  school 
year,  as  he  found  himself  at  the  head  of  some  two 
thousand  children. 

Presently  the  door  bell  rang,  and  he  went  to  the 
door  and  opened  it.  In  the  dim  light  of  the  hall 
loomed  the  tall  figure  of  a  man,  a  younger  man, 
who  looked  at  Peter  intently,  with  a  questioning 
smile.  In  a  moment  Peter  felt  a  stir  and  glow  of 
memory.  In  a  low  voice  the  stranger  said, 

"You  don't  know  me." 

"Yes — I  know  you."  Moving  slowly  backward, 
he  let  the  light  from  the  room  behind  him  strike 
full  on  the  visitor's  face.  "Moon  Chao!"  he  cried- 

"Splendid!     Yes— it  is  I!" 

161 


1 62  BEGGARS1  GOLD 

A  few  moments  later,  in  the  Boom,  all  three  of 
them  together  were  talking  excitedly.  Dazed  at 
first,  Peter  caught  but  a  blurred  picture  of  the 
man — tall  and  dark,  with  lustrous  eyes — unreal  as 
a  vision  dropped  from  the  sky.  For  in  a  twinkling 
this  room,  where  they  had  lived  for  twenty  years, 
was  utterly  changed,  as  it  began  to  fill  with  the  light 
of  memories.  As  he  looked  at  Kate  and  felt  the 
almost  painful  rush  of  happiness  in  her  low  quick 
thrilling  laugh,  up  from  the  depths  of  both  their 
lives  flashed  the  old  dream  of  that  first  year.  Glow 
ing  recollections,  confused,  haphazard,  up  they  came. 
Motionless,  his  smiling  gaze  was  fixed  upon  this 
messenger  from  the  Country  of  What  Might  Have 
Been,  and  slowly  Moon  Chao  Began  to  grow  real. 

Tall,  slender — no,  not  slender,  lean.  There  was 
something  almost  gaunt  about  him,  powerful  lines 
in  his  dark  face.  "How  hard  he  has  lived!  How 
old  can  he  be?"  Peter  reckoned  a  moment.  "Just 
twenty-eight.  Eighteen  years  since  he  left  this  room. 
Good  God,  what  years  they  must  have  been !"  But, 
in  spite  of  the  signs  of  struggle  and  early,  deep 
maturity  in  the  long  face,  with  its  high  forehead, 
strong  cheek  bones  and  powerful  jaws,  there  was 
youth  in  the  big  black  gleaming  eyes.  In  almost 
perfect  English,  Moon  Chao  was  talking  rapidly, 
and  the  story  he  was  telling  struck  into  the  whirl  of 
Peter's  thoughts  like  a  strong,  clear  path  of  light. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  163 

He  had  lived  at  first  with  his  uncle  and  had  gone 
to  that  small  school  which  Peter  had  been  asked  to 
teach.  In  Peter's  place  they  had  secured  a  young 
Chinaman  from  America,  who  had  studied  under 
William  James. 

"What  a  spirit  he  had!"  Moon  Chao  exclaimed. 
"How  he  loved  the  work!  He  half  starved  him 
self,  and  many  times  he  would  work  on  the  whole 
night  through,  to  study  and  to  read  and  plan  how 
he  was  going  to  make  his  way,  deep,  deep,  deep 
into  our  minds,  take  hold  of  us  and  make  us  think 
clear  truth  and  throw  away  the  lies.  At  last  he 
learned  to  open  great  windows.  'LookP  And  we 
would  see — far  off  to  the  Western  World — and  far 
down  into  ourselves/* 

He  turned  to  Kate. 

"For  in  this  man  was  the  same  faith  which  you 
began  to  give  me  here.  'You  do  not  know  what  you 
can  be!'  he  would  declare.  'No  country  knows! 
But  they  shall  see!  There  shall  be  at  some  far 
day  a  China  dazzling  as  the  land  that  men  have 
dreamed  of  for  the  gods!  And  the  only  road  to 
that  land,'  he  would  say,  'is  the  path  of  truth,  real 
ity — not  the  shallow,  surface  reality  of  every  day, 
but  the  deep  knowledge  of  ourselves  and  all  the 
wonder  forces,  the  miracles  inside  of  us,  that  as 
yet  have  barely  been  revealed!  You  must  never 
lose  your  faith  in  that.  Be  proud  of  yourselvef 


1 64  BEGGARS7  GOLD 

and  China — proud  of  her  for  what  she  has  been, 
still  more  for  what  she  is  to  be.  The  road  to  that 
is  long  and  hard;  we  ourselves  must  build  it  as  we 
go — slowly  up  the  mountainside.  And  for  this 
building  we  must  have  so  many  tools — tools  of  the 
mind  and  of  the  soul — tools  simple,  tools  as  intri 
cate  as  great,  miraculous  machines — and  powder  of 
the  spirit,  too,  and  dynamite,  to  blast  away  great 
rocks  and  cliffs  of  prejudice.  But  oh  my  children, 
now  at  first  we  must  use  only  simple  tools/ 

"So  speaking  in  the  morning,  he  would  open  the 
book  on  his  desk,  and  the  work  of  the  day  begin 
ning  would  often  go  on  until  the  dark.  He  was  a 
master  hard  to  satisfy.  Though  he  was  patient, 
kind  and  human,  always  ready  to  stop  for  a  laugh 
or  in  order  to  find  our  point  of  view,  back  he  would 
come  to  the  drill  of  the  day,  and  drill  and  drill 
until  each  task  was  done  in  a  clean,  thorough  way. 
We  loved  that  man — we  slaved  for  him.  We  were 
few — we  were  only  seventeen  boys ;  but  all  but  one, 
and  three  that  died,  kept  on  with  him  until  the  time 
when  we  entered  the  University.  There  we  found 
among  the  students  a  scattered  few  from  all  over 
the  land,  who  under  the  guidance  of  two  or  three 
great  teachers  in  the  faculty  were  studying  the 
sciences.  We  joined  them,  and  with  those  Great 
Tools  we  began  to  build  the  road  to  the  new  nation 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  165 

that  shall  be.  What  talks  we  had,  and  how  we 
worked!  Often  we  would  dream  too  much,  for 
dreams  are  soft  and  easy.  Again  and  again  we 
would  forget  the  command  of  our  first  captain,  and 
turning  impatiently  aside  from  all  reality  soar  away. 
But  suddenly  we  would  hear  him  say,  'Come  back, 
come  back,  my  children.  Up  there  are  dizzy  cliffs 
that  lead  only  into  clouds.  Back  to  the  road — 
back  to  the  tools — back  to  the  work/  And  back 
we  would  come. 

"And  we  saw  the  road  grow  longer,  with  obstacles 
on  every  hand  and  many  paths  that  led  astray.  In 
spite  of  our  proud,  clear  thinking,  we  found  we  could 
not  see  ahead  in  the  ocean  of  our  country's  life. 
From  its  depths  and  from  the  world  outside  vast 
forces  rose,  and  rolling  in  they  swept  us  on — to 
changes?  Yes.  But  oh  my  friends,  so  different! 
Japan  and  Russia,  England,  France  and  Germany 
and  America  were  always  there.  Their  money  rolled 
in,  and  their  business  men,  their  diplomats,  their  en 
gineers.  In  a  fury  that  was  blind,  the  Boxers  rose 
against  them — massacred — but  were  put  down;  and 
our  condition  after  that  was  worse  than  it  had  been 
before.  Japan  and  Russia  went  to  war,  and  China 
had  to  pay  the  price.  So  all  these  forces  from  out 
side  poured  into  China's  wakening.  And  so,  when 
at  last  a  year  ago  we  found  ourselves  a  republic, 


1 66  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

we  soon  discovered  that  our  new  state  was  no  glori 
ous  goal  of  our  dreams,  but  only  one  short  step 
ahead!" 

Moon  Chao  broke  off  with  a  quick  laugh. 

"Oh,  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you — and  so  much  to 
learn  from  you!  How  can  we  succeed — you — you 
— and  I?  It  has  been  so  long!  Eighteen  years!" 

"Eighteen  years!"  repeated  Kate.  And  then 
Peter  asked  him, 

"Why  did  you  stop  writing,  Moon  Chao?" 

"I  stopped  because  you  did  not  reply!" 

"When  was  that?" 

"About  five  years  after  I  had  left  you,"  he  said. 
And  suddenly  Peter  remembered  it  now.  Kate  had 
been  very  ill  at  the  time,  and  life  had  been  black. 
How  bitter  the  letter  from  Peking  had  made  him 
then!  "I  waited  for  months,"  Moon  Chao  went 
on.  "There  was  no  reply.  And  I  told  myself, 
'They  no  longer  care  to  write — or  they  are  dead. 
I  will  keep  what  I  have,  my  memory.' ' 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Then,  with  her  smil 
ing  eyes  on  his,  Kate  asked, 

"Do  you  remember  how  when  you  were  with  us 
here  you  were  going  to  be  a  great  actor,  Moon 
Chao?" 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"Yes,  yes — I  must  tell  you  about  that!     For  I 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  167 

did  remember — and  all  the  time  I  was  working  for 
that — it  became  a  part  of  all  the  rest.  China  shall 
be  new,  I  thought,  but  not  by  merely  imitating  what 
has  been  done  in  other  lands.  China  must  always 
be  herself,  and  herself  goes  back  into  her  past,  and 
her  past  is  in  her  drama.  More  and  more  of  my 
time,  as  I  grew,  I  began  to  spend  in  the  theatres. 
My  father's  spirit  was  close  to  me  there.  I  watched 
and  listened,  and  drank  in  old  wine  that  set  me  all 
aflame.  Soon  I  began  to  play  small  parts.  They 
praised  my  work  and  gave  me  hopes  of  leading  roles 
as  time  went  on.  But  then  in  that  first  little  school 
my  teacher  died.  He  had  given  his  life  in  twelve 
hard  years.  'ISow  you  must  come,'  my  uncle  said, 
'or  soon  the  school  will  die  away — for  I  can  find 
no  teacher.'  I  heard  his  message  many  times  and 
struggled  hard  to  throw  it  aside,  to  forget  all  that 
had  been  given  to  me,  to  escape  the  debt.  But  I 
asked  myself,  'How  do  I  know  I  shall  be  a  great 
actor?  Here  is  something  I  can  do,  here  is  a  great 
teacher's  work  that  will  die  unless  I  carry  it  on 
until  a  better  man  can  be  found.'  So  I  went  back, 
five  years  ago.  When  I  took  the  little  school,  there 
were  thirty-seven  boys.  There  are  over  seventy 
now — and,  though  I  have  never  learned  to  teach  like 
the  man  who  came  behind  me,  I  have  grown  to  love 
the  work !  So  here  I  am !  I  have  come  to  learn  all 


1 68  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

that  I  can — what  is  good,  what  is  bad,  what  is  weak, 
what  is  strong — in  all  your  schools — and  then  go 
back  to  China!" 

As  he  went  on,  in  reply  to  their  questions,  pour 
ing  out  his  hopes  and  plans,  Peter  turned  with  a 
quick  start.  Laughing,  her  face  radiant,  Kate  was 
speaking  in  Chinese !  It  was  as  though  all  the  years 
between  had  abruptly  dropped  away.  Moon  Chao 
leaned  forward  in  delight  and  took  both  her  hands 
in  his. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad,  so  glad!"  he  cried.  "Do  you 
know  that  when  I  came  to  your  door  I  was  fright 
ened?  Do  you  know  the  cause?  I  was  asking, 
'Shall  I  find  them  here?  And  if  I  do,  how  shall 
they  be?  These  two  people  gave  me  life — they 
caught  me  up  from  a  childish  terror  that  was  worse 
than  any  death — they  took  me  in  when  they  were 
young  and  their  home  was  like  a  heaven — and  here 
they  gave  me  splendid  dreams!  I  am  the  son  of 
the  glory  of  their  youth !  And  now  perhaps  I  shall 
find  them  old — the  light  gone  out!' ' 

"Moon  Chao,  you've  come  too  late  for  that!  Our 
old  age  is  left  behind!"  said  Kate,  in  a  voice  vibrat 
ing  with  the  strange  happiness  of  this  night.  Once 
more,  almost  unconsciously,  she  began  talking  in 
Chinese ;  and  Peter  knew  she  was  telling  of  the  fight 
he  had  made  in  these  last  years.  His  mind  swept 
quickly  over  them.  How  hard  and  dull  and  com- 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  169 

monplace  they  seemed  to  him,  mere  drudgery!  And 
yet  they  were  like  solid  rock  beneath  him  now! 
"Thank  God,  he  didn't  come  to  us  in  the  years  when 
I  had  failed  and  failed!  Then  we  were  old!  It's 
different  now!  I've  stood  the  gaff — come  through 
at  last!  I  can  welcome  him,  and  this  dream  he  is 
bringing!"  He  recalled  how  again  and  again,  in 
all  those  years  of  failure,  this  vision  of  What  Might 
Have  Been  had  come  to  him,  and  how  each  time 
there  had  been  a  stabbing  of  regret.  But  now  all 
that  was  left  behind,  and  now  he  could  be  glad 
with  Kate  over  Moon  Chao's  coming.  "He  must 
live  with  us  while  he  is  here,"  thought  Peter.  Again 
he  looked  at  his  wife.  "How  happy  she  is — how 
young  she  is!" 

2. 

Suddenly  he  turned  his  head  and  saw  Susanna, 
stiff  with  surprise,  standing  in  the  doorway.  She 
had  come  so  quietly  that  nobody  had  noticed  her; 
and,  as  Moon  Chao  and  her  mother  talked  on  rap 
idly  in  Chinese,  Susanna  listened  aghast.  With  keen 
relish*  and  delight,  Peter  watched  her.  Straight  as 
an  arrow,  vigorous,  slim,  her  head  thrown  back, 
her  dark  face  flushed  from  a  quick  walk  home. 
"Head  utterly  filled  with  her  own  life,  her  dance, 
her  club  or  something  else  of  tremendous  impor 
tance,"  Peter  thought.  "And  now  to  come  into  this 


170  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

room  and  find  her  mother  talking  Chinese !"  Lips 
parted  in  an  uncertain  smile,  eyes  blazing  with  aston 
ishment — he  could  see  she  was  trying  to  think  it 
out.  She  was  asking,  "Who  is  this  Chinaman,  and 
why  is  he  talking  to  Mother  like  this?  When  did 
he  know  her?  What  does  it  mean?  Was  it  in 
China,  when  she  was  a  girl?  But  he  looks  too 
young  for  that !  Dear  old  Mother !  Look  at  her ! 
She  looks  as  young  as  a  girl  herself !  What  in  the 
world  is  happening  here?" 

Peter  chuckled,  and,  with  his  eyes  on  Kate,  he 
said, 

"Hello,  Susanna." 

With  a  start  and  then  a  laugh,  Kate  sprang  up ; 
and  in  a  moment  all  of  them  were  on  their  feet, 
while  eagerly  she  began  to  explain,  to  answer  all 
the  questions  that  her  excited  young  daughter  poured 
out.  So  close  to  each  other  all  these  years,  and  now 
so  suddenly  apart,  with  a  rush  their  thoughts  and 
feelings  came  together.  "Here's  something  new! 
I  belong  in  this !"  Susanna  seemed  demanding.  "And 
I  mean  to  have  it,  too!"  Her  sharp  questions  came 
pellmell,  and  now  she  began  to  understand.  But, 
long  after  they  were  seated  and  Moon  Chao  was 
talking  on,  Peter  saw  Susanna's  glance  turn  again 
and  again  to  Kate.  "Mother  in  China!  A  small 
girl !  Why  on  earth  have  I  never  stopped  to  really 
feel  it  until  now?  What  a  different  life  she  has 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  171 


had  from  mine !  And  to  jump  way  back  like  thi; 
away  from  me — and  look  so  young!  Oh,  Jimminy 
Crickets!  Mother.'9  He  saw  her  eyes  turn  to 
Moon  Chao  with  a  deepening  hostility.  "What 
right  have  you,"  she  seemed  to  ask,  "to  mean  so 
much  in  my  mother's  life?  What  do  you  want  to 
do  with  her  now — you  foreigner?" 

The  next  moment  she  was  given  a  terrific  shock 
of  surprise.  For  leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  with 
his  hands  locked  together  tight,  the  young  Chinaman 
cried  to  her  mother  in  English, 

"And  if  old  age  is  left  behind,  why  should  not 
you  come  with  me — back  at  last  to  my  school  in 
Peking?" 

Susanna  fairly  bounced  in  her  seat. 

"Mother!"  she  breathed. 

Kate  turned  and  gave  a  low  laugh  of  delight,  at 
the  indignation  visible  on  her  young  daughter's 
countenance. 

"Would  you  like  to  go,  Susanna?"  she  asked. 

"Where?" 

"To  China!" 

"Certainly  not!" 

Kate  laughed  again. 

"You  see,  Moon  Chao,  the  trouble  you'll  have  if 
you  want  to  move  this  family.  Before  Susanna 
budges,  she'll  have  to  be  shown  the  reason  why!" 

Moon  Chao  began  to  talk  to  her.     Holding  her 


172  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

excited  eyes  with  his  own,  so  black  and  lustrous, 
which  seemed  to  widen  with  his  dream — he  told  of 
his  school,  of  the  life  in  Peking,  of  the  crowded 
streets,  the  costumes,  the  rickshaws  and  the  camels, 
the  small  .ponies  and  the  dogs,  the  big-wheeled,  gaily 
painted  carts,  the  rich  bazaars,  old  temples  hidden 
by  high  walls  and  lovely,  quiet  gardens. 

"On  a  deep,  soft  Eastern  night,"  he  said,  "when" 
the  great  city  of  Peking  is  whispering  in  dreamland, 
I  shall  bring  rickshaws  to  your  house.  You  will  be 
in  the  little  garden  there,  drinking  tea  with  your 
ancestors.  'Let  us  go  to  the  theatre,'  I  shall  say; 
and  soon  we  shall  be  rushing  without  a  sound  along 
a  street  that  winds  in  the  dark  shadow  of  the  ancient 
city  wall.  Rushing  along  in  silence!  Only  the 
quick  breaths  of  our  men — only  the  soft  pad  of  their 
feet — and  bugle  calls  from  far  behind,  in  the  Lega 
tion  Quarter — and  distant  cries  from  far  ahead— « 
and  a  great,  quivering  glow  of  light !  The  glow  will 
brighten,  and  the  cries  grow  louder,  as  we  rush 
along — the  streets,  no  longer  silent,  dark,  but  gay 
with  the  soft  glamour  of  lanterns  tossing  overhead 
and  from  the  booths  on  either  side.  Such  very  nar 
row,  crooked  streets,  with  such  swarms  of  people 
there,  and  crowded  full  of  rickshaws,  too !  Now  we 
are  dodging  in  and  out,  our  men  still  running  at 
full  speed.  You  shall  hear  the  rickshaw  silver  gongs 
and  the  quick  'Hoy!  Hoy!'  of  the  rickshaw  men, 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  173 

as  they  dash  for  every  opening!  At  each  instant 
with  delight  you  shall  see  beautiful  costumes,  rich 
colors  and  the  gleam  of  gold !  You  shall  enter  into 
the  theatre  and  look  down  upon  the  stage — and 
there  you  shall  see  a  gorgeous  girl — the  reigning 
comedy  queen  of  Peking!  You  shall " 

"What  does  she  wear?"  Susanna  cried.  Her 
mother  laughed.  Moon  Chao  replied, 

"A  suit  of  white  satin — embroidered  with  gold! 
The  trousers  tied  at  the  ankles!  She  is  in  white, 
because  that  is  the  color  of  mourning — and  she  is 
mourning  the  death  of  a  suitor!  He  is  not  dead — 
she  has  been  deceived  by  her  wise  old  father — whom 
she  disobeyed.  For  he  wanted  her  to  marry  this 
man.  She  refused.  Then  he  told  her,  'The  man 
is  dead!'  And  at  once,  to  make  peace  with  her 
ancestor  for  her  disobedience,  she  goes  into  mourn- 
mg  and  she  cries,  'How  I  loved  that  man !  Oh  my 
father,  I  meant  to  marry  him  all  the  time !'  She  is 
frantic  with  pretended  grief — at  which  the  old  man 
smiles — and  we,  who  know  the  plot,  we  say,  'Soon 
the  dead  man  will  appear,  and  then  this  young  de- 
ceptress  will  have  to  live  up  to  all  this  terrible  grief 
of  hers!''  Moon  Chao  broke  off  with  a  quick 
smile.  "Do  you  see?  It  is  pure  comedy!  A  kind 
you  can  so  quickly  and  so  easily  understand,  that 
watching  this  delightful  girl  who  is  dressed  in  such 
attractive  ways,  you  shall  say,  'These  Chinese  peo- 


174  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

pie  are  human,  and  I  like  them  all!  Why  did  I 
call  them  foreigners  ?  They  are  like  me — they  shall 
be  my  friends!  I  see — I  hear — I  understand!'  " 

uBut  how  could  I  understand  them?"  Susanna, 
still  bolt  upright,  still  half  hostile,  half  afraid,  'but 
thrilled  and  fascinated  now,  demanded  sharply  of 
Moon  Chao.  He  answered, 

"You  shall  learn  Chinese !" 

"Where?"  she  asked. 

"With  a  teacher — as  your  mother  learned — and 
then  in  the  University." 

"I?  In  a  college  full  of  Chinamen?"  Susanna 
had  dreamed  of  college  for  years;  and,  as  her  star 
tled  fancy  tried  to  make  the  awful  leap  from  Bar 
nard  College  in  New  York  to  the  University  of 
Peking,  her  face  grew  eloquent  with  dismay. 

"With  Chinamen?  No,"  he  answered.  "With 
Chinese  girls — delightful  girls,  who  shall  be  with 
you  every  day,  and  shall  become  your  lifelong 
friends!" 

"Lifelong  friends!"  she  stared  at  him.  A  fine, 
curling  wisp  of  hair  got  into  her  eyes.  Viciously 
she  blew  it  aside.  Her  mother  watched  her  with 
a  smile,  and  thought,  "How  unfair  to  her  it  would 
be !  t  Her  thoughts  are  already  struggling  back — 
back  to  school  and  college  here,  and  all  this  crowded 
life  she  loves!"  And,  turning  to  their  visitor,  she 
said, 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  175 

"Moon  Chao,  we  can't  go  with  you.  We  want 
to — oh  we  want  to  go.  But  now,  you  see,  there's 
too  much  here — not  only  this  daughter  of  ours,  but 
our  school.  We  have  two  thousand  children  now." 

But  he  was  not  so  easily  to  be  stopped  in  his 
appeal. 

"And  I,"  he  said,  "have  seventy-three.  But — 
oh  why  will  you  Americans  always  measure  by  num 
bers?  My  school  is  small — but  it  is  great  as  three 
small  ships  upon  the  ocean,  bearing  Columbus  to  a 
new  world.  It  is  great  as  three  little  specks  in  the 
desert,  bearing  Wise  Men  from  the  East!  It  is 
great  as  the  beginning  of  a  mighty  new  life,  for  four 
hundred  millions  of  people !"  he  cried.  With  a  low, 
clear,  thrilling  laugh,  Kate  said, 

"How  glad  I  am — how  glad  for  you!" 

"Yes,  but  you — and  you!"  he  cried.  And  he 
turned  to  Peter.  "I  know  your  school — how  large 
it  is — and  all  the  good  that  you  can  do.  But  you 
have  given  it  twenty  years — the  best  of  your  life. 
In  a  few  years  more  it  will  wear  you  down — old  age 
will  come  to  you  again,  never  to  be  put  behind!  But 
come  with  me  out  to  the  East,  and  you  will  come  into 
a  dream  so  warm  with  gleaming  color  and  light 
that  new  life  will  pour  into  you !" 

"Yes,"  said  Peter  quietly,  "but  you  see,  I  love 
my  school."  As  he  spoke,  his  mind  flashed  over 
his  work.  How  hard  and  commonplace  it  was. 


176  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

What  dirt  and  din.  But  he  smiled  at  Moon  Chao. 
"You'll  find  no  gleaming  color  there — but  we're 
building,  son,  we're  building,  too;  and  like  your 
school  it  was  given  to  me  as  a  trust  from  a  man 
whose  entire  life  has  gone  into  the  building.  Build 
ing  what?  It's  hard  to  say.  But  in  the  last  hour 
you've  made  me  feel  that  in  the  new  and  greater 
America  that  lies  ahead,  a  part  of  our  greatness  is 
to  be  our  friendship  with  the  new  life  in  the  East. 
I  can  feel  it  already  in  this  room.  This  one  night — 
think  what  it  has  done !  It  has  been  like  a  miracle ! 
You  are  back,  thank  God;  and  from  this  time  on 
we  must  keep  together.  Perhaps  we  shall  come  to 
China,  some  day.  In  the  meantime,  we  can  help 
you.  That  school  of  yours,  as  it  grows  and  grows, 
will  be  to  us  like  a  part  of  our  lives !" 

With  a  little  tightening  of  his  throat,  he  broke 
off,  said  abruptly,  "Tell  us  your  plans."  But  as 
he  went  on  to  question  Moon  Chao,  and  advise  him 
as  to  what  schools  he  should  see,  Peter  soon  began 
to  feel  the  vividness,  the  strangeness,  of  the  last 
hour  pass  away.  Susanna's  coming  had  broken  the 
spell.  Again  they  were  parents — real,  middle  aged 
— an  American  school  teacher  and  his  wife. 

"Never  mind,"  he  thought.  "It  will  come  back. 
It  must.  We  must  make  the  most  of  this.  It's 
like  the  very  wine  of  youth  to  Kate,  and  she  must 
have  it  all."  Aloud,  he  said, 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  177 

"Moon  Chao,  my  boy,  you  must  stay  with  us 
while  you  are  here." 

Moon  Chao  looked  down  a  moment,  his  hands 
locked  together  tight.  Then  he  looked  up  and 
said  with  a  smile, 

"Yes,  once  again — as  once  before." 


And  in  the  months  that  followed,  the  miracle  of 
that  hour  at  night,  though  not  so  stirring  and  in 
tense,  was  clothed  in  warm  realities.  Now  the  old 
and  now  the  new.  The  little  Moon  Chao  of  long 
ago,  the  son  of  the  glory  of  their  youth,  came  back 
to  them  in  memories,  with  his  sudden  bursts  of 
hungry  love,  his  moods  of  lonely,  deep  reserve.  And 
the  Moon  of  today,  the  teacher,  poet,  dreamer, 
builder,  he  grew  steadily  more  real.  As  Peter 
probed  into  his  plans,  with  relief  he  felt,  "This  boy 
is  no  mere  enthusiast."  Already  he  was  tackling 
hard  the  methods  of  teaching  over  here.  Rapidly 
he  was  piling  up  notes  and  books  and  pamphlets. 

"I  have  so  little  time,"  he  said.  "I  must  take 
them  all  back  with  me,  to  read  and  study  over  there. 
In  China  very  often  I  shall  go  into  a  trance.  My 
friends  will  ask,  'Where  is  Moon  Chao?'  I  shall 
be  here  in  America,  trying  with  you  to  understand 
both  what  is  good  and  what  is  bad,  what  to  take 


178  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

i 

and  what  to  leave.  For  we  must  learn  by  your  mis 
takes  ;  and  what  we  take  from  you  we  must  change 
and  adapt  it  all  to  our  own  life,  which  is  so  different 
from  yours.  Not  so  different  as  you  may  think, 
for  we  are  a  practical  people,  too.  And  yet — and 
yet  we  are  not  the  same — nor  shall  we  ever  try  to 
be.  Japan  is  trying.  Swiftly  she  is  reaching  out 
for  all  the  ways  of  the  Western  World,  like  a  bright, 
greedy  boy  who  cries,  'I  can  eat  anything!  Nothing 
can  hurt  me !'  But  Japan  is  losing  fast  the  very 
deepest  strength  and  beauty  of  her  national  life. 
We  shall  not  follow.  We  Chinese  shall  take  the 
slower,  harder  path.  To  watch  and  watch  and 
study  deep,  through  thousands  of  our  young  men 
and  girls  who  will  come  to  study  abroad.  But  then 
to  choose  so  carefully.  Oh,  it  will  not  be  easy. 
And  who  am  I?  Already  I  feel  like  one  small  drop 
in  an  ocean  of  peoples.  I  have  seen  but  a  few  of 
your  schools;  but,  as  I  try  to  understand  what  is 
good  for  China  here,  already  often  I  find  myself 
suddenly  groping  in  the  dark." 

It  was  in  this  baffled,  groping  mood  that  he  grew 
most  real  to  them.  Living  with  them  most  of  the 
time,  his  various  little  human  faults  and  weaknesses 
soon  came  out.  After  driving  hard  at  his  task,  he 
would  be  plunged  in  discouragement.  But  suddenly 
up  again  he  would  rise — and  at  such  moments  they 
both  knew  that  they  could  never  make  him  real, 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  179 

that  for  them  he  was  and  would  always  be  like  some 
figure  of  romance,  filled  with  the  vision  of  their 
youth. 

One  evening  in  the  lamp-lit  room  he  recited  a 
dramatic  poem  that  he  himself  had  written  from 
the  fable  Kate  had  made  for  him  when  he  was  a 
little  boy,  about  the  old  beggar  and  his  bag  and 
the  god  who  had  told  him  of  the  gold.  And,  though 
Peter  could  catch  but  a  few  of  the  lines,  he  did  not 
need  them;  for  Moon  Chao  seemed  to  change  before 
their  eyes  and  become  a  weary,  hopeless  old  man. 
Slowly  the  picture  faded,  as  the  beggar  fell  asleep. 
Then  came  the  god — and  towering  there,  with  an 
unearthly  glory  coming  in  the  powerful  face;  and, 
in  the  smile  and  the  low  voice,  a  deep,  serene  com 
passion — Moon  Chao  seemed  dreaming  far  away. 
Suddenly  Peter's  glance  was  caught  by  the  great 
golden  Buddha,  in  its  shadowy  corner,  staring  out 
of  a  thousand  years.  And  the  old  excitement  stirred 
in  him,  responding  to  the  call  of  the  East.  He 
looked  at  Kate.  She  sat  very  still,  her  lips  parted 
in  a  smile,  and  he  saw  that  she,  too,  was  far  away. 
Again  with  tenfold  power  he  felt  what  it  would 
mean  to  her  to  be  there.  And  for  a  time  he  barely 
heard  the  low,  rhythmic,  thrilling  lines — so  in 
tensely  was  he  loving  her  now.  There  went  through 
him  a  swift  regret,  as  he  thought,  "What  a  love  it 
might  have  been.  It  is  here  always,  underneath  the 


i8o  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

heavy  load  of  little  things  of  every  day  that  hold 
it  down."  In  upon  his  feeling  fell  the  last  line 
of  the  poem — low,  vibrant,  hardly  more  than  a  sigh 
— in  which  was  all  the  tragedy  and  all  the  joy  of 
human  life : 

"We  are  beggars  sitting  on  bags  of  gold." 

There  was  silence  as  Moon  Chao  sat  down.  He 
did  not  appear  to  relax — he  just  grew  very  quiet. 
After  a  moment  he  said  to  Kate, 

"You  see,  for  many,  many  years  the  story  that 
you  told  me  has  been  here."  He  touched  his  breast. 
"And  so  it  has  grown  up,  like  me.  Does  it  please 
you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "You  should  be 
in  the  theatre,  Moon  Chao."  He  smiled. 

"Yes?     But  I  should  be  in  my  school." 

And  then  Peter  asked  himself:  "Shall  we  go  to 
Peking  and  take  his  place — and  set  him  free  ?  Can 
I  give  up  my  work?"  But,  as  his  thoughts  went 
over  the  long  years  of  struggle  here,  there  was  in 
him  an  honesty  that  made  him  reply,  "This  is  only 
an  hour  by  lamplight.  Already  it  is  slipping  away. 
Tomorrow  how  sensible  I  shall  be.  How  my  school 
will  grip  me  then — and  the  pledge  I  made  to  Dilling- 
ham,  and  the  opportunity  that  is  here." 

And  so  it  was.  As  he  took  Moon  Chao  all 
through  his  school,  explaining  and  suggesting,  warn 
ing  against  this  and  that,  the  spell  of  the  big  noisy 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  181 

building  was  upon  him  as  before.  And  watching 
him  Kate  told  herself,  "He'd  never  be  happy  away 
from  it  now.  This  is  where  he  belongs.  And 
Susanna,  too — her  life  is  here.  And  she  is  more 
to  us  than  Moon  Chao — not  only  the  child  of  that 
first  year  but  of  all  the  years,  the  thousands  of  days. 
She  is  part  of  what  we  are,  not  of  what  we  might 
have  been." 

So  Kate  relinquished  once  again  the  old  dream 
of  her  existence.  But  she  did  not  seem  unhappy. 
Anxiously  watching  her  at  times,  Peter  could  feel 
that  the  regret  had  soon  lost  its  poignancy.  Like 
Moon  Chao,  she  was  quiet;  she  turned  to  the  ques 
tion,  "How  shall  we  be  able  to  make  the  very  best 
of  this?  We  must  not  lose  him  this  time.  How 
close  can  we  keep  to  him  over  there?"  She  thought 
of  the  long,  devious  route  by  land  and  sea,  and  of 
letters  travelling  back  and  forth,  and  newspapers 
and  magazines,  books  and  pictures,  that  would  help 
him  in  his  school.  And  there  would  be  many  mes 
sengers,  friends  that  would  go  to  China,  and  young 
pupils  that  Moon  Chao  would  be  sending  over  here. 
What  plans  they  made !  The  months  sped  by,  and 
now  the  last  few  weeks  had  come.  She  was  helping 
him  wind  up  his  search,  and  bring  together  all  the 
bewildering  things  he  had  learned.  There  was  a 
last  evening.  And  then,  as  he  had  done  long  ago, 
Peter  stood  with  Moon  Chao  by  the  train.  This 


182  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

time  Kate  was  with  them.  In  all  three  the  memories 
and  the  old  yearnings  rose  again. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Moon  Chao  very  quietly. 
"Now  we  shall  keep  close — all  our  lives."  He 
looked  at  Peter,  then  at  Kate,  and  smiled.  "You 
will  come  to  the  East,"  he  said. 

And,  as  they  were  walking  home  through  the 
harsh  din  of  the  city  streets  back  into  their  lives  of 
every  day,  like  some  invisible  messenger  from  the 
Country  of  What  Might  Have  Been,  those  last 
words  seemed  to  follow  them. 


They  missed  him  in  the  evenings.  With  grim, 
American  common  sense,  they  settled  down  and 
said  little  about  it,  but  were  nevertheless  so  forlorn 
that  on  the  third  night  Susanna  exclaimed, 

"Look  here,  you  two,  I'm  getting  pretty  sick  of 
this!  You  haven't  lost  your  only  child!  I'm  here, 
you  know — and  I'm  talking!  I've  been  talking — 
for  some  time !" 

At  the  guilty  look  on  her  father's  face,  she  burst 
into  a  merry  laugh. 

"You  poor  dear  lambs!  It's  just  as  though  a 
great  white  bird  had  come  swooping  down  into  your 
lives,  and  you'd  tried  to  fly  away  with  him !  Never 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  183 

a  thought  of  me,  of  course !  There  you  both  stood, 
flapping  your  wings " 

<7Lambs  haven't  wings,  Susanna.'*  Peter  pulled 
her  down  to  his  chair.  "Aren't  you  ashamed  of 
yourself?"  he  asked. 

"No,  only  a  little  jealous.  It's  a  little  hard,  you 
see,  to  sit  here  talking,  talking — telling  my  fond  par 
ents  just  how  and  why  I've  made  up  my  mind  to 
marry  a  nice  young  Turk  I  know — • — " 

"What's  that?" 

"Susanna!" 

She  threw  back  her  head  in  a  laugh  that  was  music 
to  their  ears. 

"I  might  have  said  that — quite  easily — with  abso 
lutely  no  effect !  You  were  both  way  off  in  China ! 
What  difference  does  it  make  to  you  whether  I 
marry  a  Turk?"  she  cried.  "You  both  sit  here, 
night  after  night " 

"He  has  only  been  gone  three  nights,"  said  Kate. 

"Yes,  and  they  seem  a  thousand!" 

"Susanna,"  demanded  Peter  sternly,  "whom  have 
you  decided  to  marry?" 

"Nobody!  At  any  time!  But  I  mean  to  march 
in  the  Suffrage  Parade — as  I've  been  trying  to  tell 
you  all  evening — and  I  want  you  to  do  the  same!" 

"All  right,  we'll  march,"  said  Peter  submissively. 

So,  by  degrees,  from  that  night  on,  Susanna  came 


1 84  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

back  into  her  own.  And  the  life  of  New  York, 
which  after  all  is  not  so  very  dreary,  went  on  again. 
In  came  the  old  demands,  and  the  spell  of  Peter's 
work  took  hold  upon  him  as  before. 

Meanwhile,  across  a  continent  and  over  a  great 
ocean,  Moon  Chao  was  once  more  speeding  home. 
And  they  followed  him  in  their  fancy.  His  letters 
came,  and  they  read  them  aloud,  and  wrote  letters 
in  reply.  And  they  began  to  send  him  things.  Peter 
would  come  home  at  night  and  say,  "Here's  a  book 
that  Moon  Chao  ought  to  read."  In  their  daily 
lives  so  many  things  kept  cropping  up  that  he  ought 
to  have — to  help  him,  to  remind  him.  Once  more 
Kate  had  a  China  Club ;  for,  while  Moon  Chao  was 
with  them  still,  she  had  gathered  a  small  group  of 
people,  to  whom  he  had  talked;  and  later  a  small 
club  had  been  formed,  to  learn  about  the  new  life 
in  the  East  and  to  help  on  the  work  of  his  school. 
The  roaring  city  of  New  York,  for  all  its  grab  and 
hustle,  is  full  of  such  groups,  large  and  small,  help 
ing  on  some  new  idea  in  every  conceivable  part  of 
the  globe.  When  a  new  idea  comes  into  town,  it 
seems  as  though  the  city  simply  could  not  be  content 
till  a  "group"  had  been  formed,  with  a  letter-head 
and  a  circular  letter  to  raise  funds  !v  Kate  now  had 
a  letter-head,  and  her  organization  quickly  grew. 
Then  in  the  winter  a  picture  came,  of  a  street  scene 
in  Peking  at  night  before  a  little  old  theatre.  The 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  185 

picture  went  up  on  the  wall  beside  the  piece  of  old 
brocade  that  had  come  from  China  long  ago.  And 
later,  other  gifts  arrived.  The  great  golden  Buddha 
was  no  longer  lonely  now;  he  had  a  small  com 
panion,  whom  Kate's  irreverent  daughter  promptly 
called,  UB.  Junior." 

In  the  early  summer,  a  year  after  he  had  gone, 
there  came  a  long  letter  from  Moon  Chao  telling 
of  his  love  affair  and  his  approaching  marriage. 
Often  in  his  letters  he  had  spoken  of  the  girl  before. 
He  had  met  her  through  her  father,  a  well-to-do 
merchant  in  Peking  who,  when  Moon  Chao's  uncle 
died,  had  taken  his  place  and  had  become. the  chief 
supporter  of  the  school.  Through  his  increasing 
interest,  the  school  had  ample  funds  at  last;  the 
hard  days  were  left  behind.  Then  the  daughter, 
having  graduated  from  the  University,  had  come 
to  help  as  a  teacher — and  so  the  love  affair  had 
begun.  Moon  Chao  was  blissfully  happy  now,  as 
he  wrote  of  their  plans  for  the  years  ahead. 

"And  do  not  forget,"  he  said,  "what  I  told  you 
in  New  York.  You  shall  both  come  to  China  !  This 
I  know — this  I  can  feel!  And  when  you  come,  my 
home  is  yours — my  school  is  yours  !  Oh  how  happy 
I  shall  be  when  you  meet  my  wife  and  we  shall  all 
be  friends  together!" 

But,  in  the  months  that  followed,  once  more  he 
slipped  away  from  them;  for  in  his  letters  Kate 


1 86  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

could  feel  that  he  no  longer  needed  them  so.  His 
marriage  made  such  a  difference.  It  was  as  though 
she  had  lost  a  son.  So  the  bright  flame  of  a  year 
before  died  down  and  deepened  to  a  glow.  That 
strange  little  school  in  the  Far  East  was  very,  very 
far  away;  and  the  figure  of  Moon  Chao  became 
more  and  more  unreal.  Faded?  No.  If  any 
thing,  it  was  more  vivid  than  before — vivid  and 
fantastic,  an  image  deep  inside  of  them,  in  those 
vast  mysterious  regions  of  the  spirit  where  we  dream. 
And  the  figure  of  Susanna — not  fantastic  or  re 
mote,  but  intimate,  close,  a  part  of  their  lives,  flesh 
of  their  flesh — demanded  more  and  more  attention. 
In  and  out  of  their  home  she  flashed,  forever  chang 
ing.  Up  went  her  hair.  What  a  woman  she  was ! 
No,  what  a  child!  How  plain  she  was — how  beau 
tiful  !  One  evening  tired,  pale  and  cross ;  again  a 
dark-haired  creature  with  smiling  lips  and  bright 
mischievous  blue  eyes.  Now  thoughtful,  tender, 
loving;  now  thoughtless,  inconsiderate.  Now  puz 
zling  over  how  to  meet  some  new  perplexity  in  her 
life,  or  filled  with  desolation  over  "some  perfectly 
awful  mistake."  Again  delighted,  treading  on  air, 
flushed  with  triumph,  arrogant.  And  now  impor 
tantly  intent  on  some  immense  ambition  or  ardent, 
new  discovery — a  life  career,  a  job,  a  friend,  an 
opera,  a  book,  a  play.  A  fresh,  delightful  egotist, 
demanding  attention,  thought  and  love  and  sym- 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  187 

pathy,  and  much  advice.  So  she  was  to  Peter  now. 
Susanna  loved  to  tease  him  so.  One  evening  she 
poured  into  his  ear  the  story  of  nine  dances  that 
she  had  had  the  night  before  with  a  certain  young 
man  whose  tango  was  "simply  life  itself!"  This 
youth,  it  seemed,  intended  to  be  a  mining  engineer, 
and  go  to  China.  "So  of  course  we  had  all  that  in 
common."  Susanna  talked  on  till  she  had  her  father 
thoroughly  disturbed  and  alarmed.  Then  she  burst 
out  laughing.  "Oh  you  poor  mountain  of  a  Dad! 
Just  quivering!"  And  she  hugged  him  tight. 

"She  will,  though,"  Peter  groaned  to  himself. 
"She'll  marry  and  we'll  lose  her.  We've  only  got 
a  few  years  more." 

And  at  such  times  he  would  plan  with  Kate  how 
to  make  those  few  years  count — to  give  her  the  best 
of  everything.  "The  more  she  has,  the  happier 
she'll  be  with  us,"  he  told  himself,  "and  the  less 
likely  to  run  off  with  any  young  hoity-toity  fly-up- 
the-creek  that  comes  along." 

Education  for  a  modern  girl — what  a  puzzling 
confusion  of  opportunities  in  New  York,  good  and 
bad,  sham  and  real;  and  it  was  all  made  more 
chaotic  by  the  swiftly  changing  whims  and  desires 
of  Susanna. 

At  eighteen,  her  mind  was  made  up — "thor 
oughly" — to  be  a  physician. 

"I  tell  you,  Dad,  I  don't  care  that  how  hard  it 


1 88  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

is !  I'll  work  till  it  kills  me — I'll  make  good !  What 
does  all  this  suffrage  mean,  and  all  this  talk  of 
modern  girls?  It  means  a  job  or  nothing!  Mar 
riage?  Home?  Babies?  Decidedly  not!" 

Peter  had  winced,  a  moment  before,  at  the  pic 
ture  of  Susanna  at  work  in  a  dissecting  room.  But 
a  ray  of  hope  shot  into  him  now. 

"Quite  right,  my  dear,"  he  promptly  agreed, 
"these  early  marriages  are  a  mistake.  I'm  all  in 
favor  of  a  job.  But  have  you  stopped  to  consider 
how  many  kinds  of  jobs  there  are?"  He  gave  her 
a  tempting  list,  but  his  medical  daughter  shook  her 
head. 

"Nothing — nothing — nothing  but   this!" 

A  month  later  she  was  wondering  how  it  would 
feel  to  go  on  the  stage.  A  new  friend  of  hers  was 
thinking  of  that. 

"And  it  has  its  points,  Dad — you  know  it  has! 
Don't  you?"  she  demanded. 

"Yes,  I  know — I  know,"  said  Peter,  wrinkling 
his  heavy  brows.  "I  can't  say  I  like  especially  the 
way  they  rouge  you  up,"  he  began.  "But " 

"Rouge  you  up?"  his  daughter  cut  in.  "Why  you 
poor  old  lamb,  have  you  never  noticed  that  half 
the  girls  I  bring  here  use  lip-sticks  every  day  of 
their  lives?  I  don't.  I  don't  have  to.  But  the 
idea  of  letting  a  little  red  paint  stand  between  me 
and  my  profession " 


BEGGARS1  GOLD  189 

"It's  not  your  profession  yet,  Susanna." 

uNo,"  she  said,  with  malicious  delight,  "I  may  go 
into  the  movies,  instead.  Madge  Wulliver  is  al 
ready  in,  and  she's  getting  eighty  dollars  a  week. 
She  says  they  paint  you  a  ghastly  green" 

But  Peter  was  ready  for  this  thrust.  In  a  pleased, 
reflective  tone  he  said, 

"Well,  that's  a  nice,  fresh  color  to  be." 


So  they  watched  Susanna  grow.  Chances, 
chances,  chances.  How  to  reach  out  and  gather 
them  in?  It  cost  money.  Music  lessons,  concerts, 
plays,  lectures,  books,  clothes,  hats  and  shoes,  cost 
money — and  college  loomed  ahead.  Peter's  salary 
was  not  large,  and  part  of  it  was  used  in  school. 
Small  pupils,  dirty,  ragged,  sick — there  were  al 
ways  scores  of  them  about;  and  with  Dillingham, 
who  was  often  there,  Peter  was  still  working  hard 
at  their  new  plans  and  experiments.  The  never 
ending  grip  and  urge  and  strain  of  it  all!  More 
and  more  heavy  and  distinct  grew  the  lines  in  his 
face,  and  his  bushy  shock  of  hair  was  almost  entirely 
grey.  By  June  he  was  badly  in  need  of  rest,  and 
there  was  little  money  in  sight  to  finance  a  summer 
in  the  country. 

But  one  night  a  letter  came  from  a  man  up  in 


190  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

Pearly  Gates,  who  since  the  death  of  Peter's  uncle 
had  been  working  the  farm  on  shares.  It  had  never 
been  much  of  a  farm,  only  a  strip  of  twenty-two 
acres  extending  back  down  the  mountainside  from 
old  Bill's  home  on  the  village  street.  Peter's  share 
of  the  hay  each  year  had  barely  paid  the  taxes. 
Meanwhile  the  farm  had  been  "goin'  back."  And 
the  neighbor  now  wrote  to  say  that  the  hay  was 
no  longer  worth  the  cutting. 

uThe  fact  of  the  matter  is,"  he  wrote,  "your 
uncle's  place  is  so  run  down  it's  good  for  nothing 
but  to  help  to  hold  the  world  together." 

"Very  well,"  concluded  Kate.  "Then  it  can  help 
hold  us  together — give  us  a  real  home  at  last,  where 
Susanna  can  bring  her  college  friends,  and  where 
you  and  I  when  summer  comes  can  rest  from  our 
labors.  Oh,  Peter,  my  dear,  we're  getting  old — 
just  old  enough  to  have  learned  what  it  means  really 
to  enjoy  our  lives,"  she  ended  smiling.  "So  let's 
go." 

The  next  week  they  went  up  to  the  mountains. 

They  found  it  pretty  depressing  at  first.  On  a 
lovely  afternoon  in  June,  when  the  whole  broad 
slope  of  the  mountainside  was  fresh  and  fragrant 
with  new  life,  the  old  house  on  the  village  street 
loomed  deserted,  grim,  forlorn,  like  some  gaunt 
old  beggar  there.  But  soon  in  the  naked  musty 
rooms  all  three  of  them  were  hard  at  work,  sweep- 


BEGGARS1  GOLD  191 

ing,  scrubbing,  hammering,  puttying,  moving  in 
things  they  had  brought  from  New  York.  While 
she  worked,  Susanna  explored,  and  her  exclama 
tions  of  delight  revealed  how  she  was  seeing  it  all — 
not  as  a  place  where  life  had  been,  but  as  the  scene 
of  the  fresh  new  life  that  would  come  pouring  into 
it.  She  even  saw  dances  in  the  barn.  For  Peter, 
in  the  meantime,  old  memories  of  the  years  behind 
emerged  from  every  corner  and  took  his  hand  and 
drew  him  back.  Underneath  his  uncle's  bed  he 
found  an  old  map  of  Asia. 

A  queer  exciting  treasure  house.  As  he  lay 
awake  that  night,  there  came  to  him  a  curious  sense 
of  this  flowing  together  of  old  and  new.  Susanna 
had  been  too  excited  to  sleep  and  had  remained 
downstairs  to  read.  Now  he  heard  her  step  as 
she  came  up  to  bed.  She  was  humming  a  Fox-Trot ! 
Sacrilege !  He  chuckled,  then  drew  a  breath  of 
content.  How  well  Kate's  plan  was  working  out. 
His  thoughts  travelled  drowsily  into  the  bright  years 
ahead.  He  fell  asleep — and  awoke  with  a  start, 
heard  the  heavy  patter  of  rain  on  the  roof.  "What 
was  it  wakened  me  like  that?"  There  was  some 
thing  cold  and  wet  on  his  brow.  Ghosts?  No, 
For  now  it  came  again,  a  large,  unmistakable  splash 
on  his  face. 

"By  George,  the  old  roof  leaks  like  a  sieve!" 
He  bought  shingles  the  next  day,  and  set  about 


i92  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

to  patch  the  roof;  and  from  that  time  on  he  was 
kept  busy  tackling  jobs  all  over  the  house.  He  had 
once  been  quite  a  carpenter;  and  Susanna,  his  eager 
helper  now,  was  forever  discovering  something  else 
"that  weVe  simply  got  to  attend  to,  Dad."  Then 
they  went  on  to  larger  things.  They  knocked  out 
a  partition  and  made  the  store  into  one  big  room; 
and  later,  after  much  discussion,  measuring  and 
drawing  of  plans,  they  started  to  build  a  veranda 
on  at  the  rear  of  the  old  house. 

"We  need  a  place,"  Susanna  said,  "where  we 
can  just  sit  quietly  and  look  down  upon  the  world." 

By  now  it  was  the  end  of  July,  1914. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
i. 

LATER,  when  Peter  looked  back  on  the  War, 
always  its  beginning  was  connected  in  his  mind 
with  the  sound  of  hammer  and  saw  and  the  smell 
of  wood.  For,  as  that  vast  confusion  came  rolling 
in  upon  him  and  he  tried  to  comprehend,  in  a  slow, 
deliberate  way  he  continued  his  work  on  the  house. 
And  later,  in  the  city,  in  the  same  way  he  attended 
to  the  routine  work  at  school.  His  mind  and  spirit, 
startled,  lifted,  flung  about,  went  groping  on.  "Beg 
gars  sitting  on  bags  of  gold."  Here  was  the  gold 
in  prodigious  masses  surging  up  out  of  the  hearts 
of  men,  for  good  or  ill,  with  a  force  terrific.  In 
the  news  of  every  day,  the  propagandists  of  both 
sides  hurled  at  him  the  most  lurid  tales  of  passions 
risen  from  the  depths.  They  sickened  him,  he 
passed  them  by,  and  read  the  other  tales  they  told, 
of  courage  and  devotion,  enduring  and  self-sacri 
fice.  Gold,  gold,  gold  of  youth — into  the  raging 
furnace  it  poured.  And  watching  the  grim  pano 
rama  of  devotion,  death,  despair,  by  slow  degrees 

193 


i94  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

month  after  month,  a  spell  came  over  all  his  think 
ing.  The  horrors  of  Belgium  and  of  France,  and 
then  of  the  Lusitania,  soon  drove  him  into  deep, 
intense  and  angry  feeling  against  Berlin;  but  around 
this  feeling  crowded  a  thousand  questions  in  his 
mind.  From  all  around  the  world  they  came,  from 
Russia,  China  and  Japan.  For  thirty  years  he  had 
studied  maps,  and  through  them  now  he  saw  this 
thing  spread  swiftly  over  the  face  of  the  earth. 
He  gave  up  hope  of  thinking  it  out,  in  a  way  that 
would  shed  one  ray  of  light  into  the  shadows  that 
loomed  ahead.  Dark,  real,  enigmatic — it  was 
there;  and  in  the  spell  of  its  presence  his  mind  and 
will  were  beneath  a  weight  inexorable  that  pressed 
them  down.  Slowly,  slowly,  all  the  while,  he  could 
feel  his  own  country  being  sucked  in. 

But  when  at  last  the  crisis  came,  it  brought  a 
sudden  change  in  his  thinking. 

All  in  one  night,  from  China  on  his  way  to  France, 
Moon  Chao  flashed  into  their  home — and  was  gone. 
A  swift,  ardent,  tingling  shock;  a  flare  and  burst  of 
sheer  romance.  A  ring  at  the  door,  a  quick  cry 
of  excitement  from  Susanna,  and  the  next  moment 
he  was  in  .the  room,  laughing,  taking  Kate's  hands 
in  his.  As  the  storm  of  questions  came,  he  threw 
off  his  coat  and  revealed  himself  in  Eastern  garb 
of  dark  blue  silk. 

"I  am  going  to  France !"  he  cried.     "Going  with 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  195 

the  Secret,  the  Great  Secret  of  the  coming  age! 
They  will  not  know — they  will  laugh  at  us  there — 
a  few  hundred  thousand  coolie  boys  to  do  the  dirty 
work  of  war.  That  is  the  part  they  give  us  to  play; 
that  is  what  they  bargained  for  with  the  military 
party  which  rules  China  in  these  days.  Reaction 
aries!  'War!'  they  cry.  And  they  think  in  war 
to  force  us  back  into  the  old  condition  of  things. 
Very  well,  we  shall  go;  but  in  our  minds  is  the 
seed  of  a  Secret  coming  to  life.  It  will  be  hidden, 
there  in  France.  These  clothes  I  am  wearing  now 
for  you  are  a  symbol.  Tonight  I  shall  take  them 
off;  all  gleaming  hopes  will  be  packed  away;  and 
tomorrow  a  dirty  steamship  will  start  across  the 
ocean,  filled  with  Chinese  farmer  boys  in  plain  cot 
ton  working  clothes.  Over  in  France  they  will  dig 
and  plough,  and  the  harvest  of  their  labor  will  give 
food  to  people  starved  by  war.  And  we  are  glad 
that  this  is  so."  His  voice  grew  low,  vibrating, 
sharp.  "But  another  harvest  there  will  be!  As 
these  few  hundred  thousand  boys  come  home  and 
scatter  far  and  wide  over  the  farms  of  China,  four 
hundred  million  people  there  will  waken  slowly — 
slowly  feel  a  sense  of  what  their  lives  might  be — 
and  of  the  power  of  the  East!  And  so  many  other 
things — such  startling,  astounding  things — will  have 
happened  all  over  the  world  by  then!"  His  black 
eyes,  deep  and  lustrous,  contracted  in  long  narrow 


196  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

slits.  "I  can  feel  them,"  said  Moon  Chao.  "So 
many  other  forces — urging,  lashing,  whispering, 
'Old  China,  waken — you  are  young!' ' 

Did  Moon  Chao  speak  these  words  that  night? 
Did  these  pulsing,  rhythmic  lines  all  come  from  his 
lips,  or  were  they  unspoken  thoughts  flashing  out 
of  his  dark  eyes?  Afterwards  Peter  could  not  say, 
for  to  him  it  was  such  a  whirling  night.  To  have 
left  and  almost  forgotten  the  East;  to  have  been 
forced,  for  over  two  years,  to  look  on  the  sombre, 
vast  convulsions  of  an  old  world  torn  to  shreds, 
without  one  gleam  on  the  horizon  of  any  new  order 
to  appear.  And  now  to  be  swept  back  again !  To 
China?  No,  into  ardent  Youth — Youth  with  the 
strange  immensity  of  all  the  East  behind  it,  Youth 
in  the  furnace  of  fehe  Gods,  in  the  grip  of  the  Great 
Secret ! 

"Don't  forget  China!" 

Moon  Chao  had  gone. 

And  coming  slowly  out  of  the  whirl  and  trying 
to  collect  his  thoughts,  Peter  began  to  remember 
now  the  other  things  Moon  Chao  had  said.  In 
reply  to  eager  questions,  from  Kate  and  from 
Susanna,  gayly  he  had  talked  of  his  wife,  the  child 
that  had  been  born  to  them,  the  life  in  their  home, 
the  work  in  their  school,  the  struggles,  hopes  and 
disappointments.  He  had  spoken  of  the  slowly  wid 
ening  Students'  Movement  in  his  land,  barely  con- 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  197 

scious  still  of  its  power,  scattered  and  unorganized, 
and  of  how  the  War  had  stifled  it,  as  the  military 
party  and  the  forces  of  reaction,  with  the  support 
of  Tokyo,  came  back  again  into  their  own.  He 
had  told  of  the  aggressions  and  encroachments  of 
Japan.  He  had  spoken  of  the  message  of  hope 
which,  flashing  from  the  White  House  out  to  every 
foreign  land,  had  reached  his  school,  waved  in  the 
hand  of  an  excited  Chinese  boy;  and  he  had  recited 
in  Chinese  the  pregnant,  fateful  sentences  of  that 
promise  to  all  peoples  oppressed,  that  from  this 
time  forth  they  should  be  allowed  to  determine  for 
and  by  themselves  what  their  governments  should 
be.  In  a  low  voice  he  had  ended, 

"That  splendid  pledge,  giving  China  new  life, 
will  never  be  forgotten." 

2. 

Moon  Chao  was  gone.  In  the  rush  of  those 
weeks,  for  Peter  and  Kate,  the  memory  of  his  visit 
was  quickly  left  behind  them;  but  the  flame  that  he 
had  kindled  was  fed  by  other  messages,  from  the 
man  in  the  White  House,  shooting  long  rays  of 
light  ahead.  Peter  felt  those  prophecies  sweeping 
high  above  him  now;  and  all  about  and  in  himself 
he  felt  the  mighty  warmth  and  light  that  is  revealed 
when  common  men  suddenly  discover  the  forces 


198  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

locked  within  them.  In  those  first  months  of  awak 
ening,  he  saw  only  the  glory  of  it  all.  For  him 
the  sinister  side  of  it,  the  hardening  intolerance,  the 
stupid  blunders  and  mistakes,  the  graft  and  profit 
eering,  were  swept  impatiently  aside.  He  had  no 
time  for  such  gloomy  thoughts.  The  school-house 
changed  before  his  eyes.  The  parents  of  boys  who 
had  gone  away,  to  the  army  or  the  navy,  came  pour 
ing  into  the  school  to  help.  War  Service  groups 
of  all  kinds  were  formed,  until  the  whole  building 
day  and  night  was  humming  with  activities.  Into 
his  attack  on  his  work  had  come  a  religious  inten 
sity;  and  when  at  times  he  was  assailed  by  a  small, 
grim,  inner  voice  that  said,  "Nothing  is  to  come 
of  this,  no  New  Life  upon  the  earth.  This  is  only 
a  Great  Death" — with  a  scowl  he  turned  from  such 
thinking  and  plunged  at  the  mass  of  details  on  his 
desk. 

All  through  the  hot  summer  months  the  war  activ 
ities  went  on.  In  a  room  in  the  basement  of  the 
school,  with  scores  of  women  and  young  girls,  Kate 
was  managing  Red  Cross  work;  it  was  often  mid 
night  when  she  came  home.  But  she  laughed  at 
Peter's  warnings  that  she  was  overtaxing  her 
strength.  The  summer  changed  to  autumn.  They 
saw  little  of  Susanna  now,  for  she  was  up  at  Barnard, 
where  she  had  begun  her  senior  year.  How  mature 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  199 

she  had  grown  in  these  last  months.  Of  medium 
height,  strong,  vigorous,  a  dark  haired  girl  of 
twenty-two,  impulsive,  laughing,  gay  at  times,  but 
then  so  quickly  sobering  down,  so  much  quieter  than 
before — and  she  talked  so  little  about  herself. 
Through  the  summer  she  had  worked  in  a  big  hos 
pital  eight  hours  a  day.  "It's  a  good  stiff  course," 
she  had  declared  with  satisfaction.  By  autumn  she 
had  qualified  as  a  nurse's  aid.  She  went  back  to 
college  then,  but  all  fall  and  winter  she  watched 
for  a  chance ;  and  at  last,  one  night  in  March  when 
Peter  came  home,  she  said  to  him, 

"I've  done  it,  Dad — I'm  off  tomorrow."  At  the 
look  that  came  on  his  face  she  added,  "I  only  heard 
about  it  at  noon,  and  I  tried  to  get  you  on  the 
'phone.  I've  been  awfully  busy  with  this  and  that, 
but  I'm  all  through  now.  Where's  Mother?" 

"She'll  be  here  pretty  soon,"  he  said,  a  little 
huskily.  He  began  to  question  Susanna  then;  and, 
for  all  her  quiet,  Peter  could  feel  the  girl's  repressed 
excitement.  And  he  felt  it,  too,  in  Kate,  when  she 
came  home  and  heard  the  news.  But  almost  at 
once  she  turned  the  talk  to  practical,  familiar  things 
— clothes,  equipment  and  the  like;  and  Susanna 
seemed  to  be  glad  of  that.  She  wanted  to  be  quiet 
that  night,  to  make  no  splurge  about  herself,  to 
don  no  halo — but  just  go.  The  next  morning,  after 


200  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

breakfast,  she  quickly  finished  packing  her  bag. 
Peter  wished  to  go  with  her  to  the  boat.  But  she 
said, 

"No,  Dad,  I'd  rather  not.  They  wouldn't  let 
you  on  the  pier." 

"Then  wait  till  I  get  a  taxi." 

"No,  thanks,"  she  said,     "I'll  take  the  car." 

There  were  brief  good-byes.  Then  she  picked 
up  her  bag  and  went  out  and  down  the  stairs. 

As  Peter  turned  back,  he  saw  that  Kate's  eyes 
were  glistening. 

"What  will  it  do  to  her?"  she  asked.  "I  wonder 
what  she  will  be  like,  and  what  she  will  want,  when 
she  comes  home?" 

"Something  very  new,"  he  said. 

Feeling,  just  for  a  little,  rather  old  and  left  be 
hind,  grimly  soon  he  shook  it  off  and  went  with 
Kate  back  to  the  school,  where  a  mass  of  details 
awaited  him. 

All  through  the  spring  the  work  piled  up.  A 
brief  letter  came  from  Susanna  in  France,  and  then 
several  postcards.  They  told  little.  She  was" 
working  hard.  Then  came  a  letter  from  Moon 
Chao.  "I  am  well  and  happy,"  it  began.  All  the 
rest  was  blotted  out.  And  Peter  chuckled  as  he 
thought  of  the  puzzled  clerk  in  the  censor's  office 
reading  Moon  Chao's  prophecies  with  stern  and 
disapproving  eyes.  But  such  brief  messages  as 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  201 

these,  and  the  memories  they  stirred,  were  now  few 
and  far  between.  For  the  anxious  days  had  come. 
The  Russian  peace,  the  German  drive,  and  the  ques 
tion:  "Shall  we  be  in  time?" — kept  pressing  in.  The 
work  went  on.  Gone  was  the  first  stimulus,  that 
tremendous  tonic  force.  By  summer  it  had  settled 
down  into  a  regular,  rhythmic  drive.  The  full  spell 
was  upon  them  now.  From  these  plain  average 
men  and  women,  boys  and  girls,  how  the  inexhaus 
tible  energies  poured  up  and  up !  The  old  exultant 
thought  returned:  "What  powers  lie  buried  deep 
in  men!" 

Then  he  felt  victory  coming  at  last;  and,  through 
the  early  days  of  August,  after  the  first  glow  of 
relief,  there  came  again  a  change  in  him.  The  peak 
was  passed;  and,  with  that  sharp  anxiety  abating 
quickly  day  by  day,  he  was  brought  back  to  the  old 
question:  "What  is  coming  out  of  this?"  He  faced 
it  suddenly  one  night  in  the  home  of  his  old  chief. 
For  Dillingham,  who  all  these  months  had  been 
almost  constantly  at  the  school,  gave  out  one  day 
and  was  taken  home.  He  suffered  very  little  that 
night.  Lying  quietly  in  his  bed,  with  Peter  and 
Kate  beside  him,  he  wondered  what  the  world  would 
be  like. 

"Don't  count  too  much  upon  the  years  just  ahead 
of  you,"  he  said.  "I  have  a  hunch  that  all  this 
world-wide  brotherhood  will  be  tossed  up  in  a  blan- 


202  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

ket,  forty  times  as  high  as  the  moon — and  there'll 
be  some  pretty  ugly  times,  as  there  were  just  after 
the  Civil  War.  But  I'm  looking  away  ahead  to 
night,  and  what  I  see  makes  me  wish  I  could  live — 
not  ten  years,  but  a  hundred."  He  smiled  at  them 
and  added,  "But  I  guess  I'm  getting  too  old  for 
that." 

Then  he  grew  very  tired.  He  said  good-night 
and  fell  asleep.  And  a  little  before  dawn  he  died. 

For  Peter  and  Kate  that  long  night's  watch  was 
like  a  dividing  line.  With  the  great  emergency 
slipping  behind,  they,  too,  began  to  look  ahead.  And 
they  began  to  realize  now  how  tired  they  were.  For 
nearly  two  years  they  had  worked  without  a  week's 
vacation,  summer  and  winter.  For  a  few  days 
longer,  both  of  them  kept  on  at  school.  Then  Kate 
toppled  over,  one  sultry  night;  Peter  brought  her 
home  and  put  her  to  bed,  and  the  next  week  he 
took  her  up  to  the  Berkshires  for  a  rest.  There 
she  was  soon  herself  again;  and  her  old  buoyant 
interest  in  life  came  back,  as  they  talked  of  what 
the  War  might  bring.  A  new  world  to  rise  out  of 
this,  at  once,  by  a  miracle?  Oh  no.  But  the  foun 
dation  stones  at  least  of  a  greater,  richer,  kinder 
life  for  all  humanity.  In  the  very  uncertainties  of 
it  all  lay  for  them  the  fascination.  Soon  Moon 
Chao  would  be  coming  through,  on  his  way  back 
to  China — to  what  pregnant  happenings  there? 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  203 

And  Susanna  would  be  coming  home — to  what  kind 
of  a  career?  It  was  good  to  talk  about  these  things, 
as  one  basked  in  the  warm,  sunny,  mountain  air; 
for  they  both  had  a  feeling  now  that  the  harvest 
time  had  come  at  last,  not  only  of  the  War  abroad, 
but  of  their  own  lives  as  well.  A  new  world  order 
opening  up,  a  daughter  beginning  her  womanhood, 
a  school  where  Peter  was  just  on  the  eve  of  his  best 
work. 

"To  reap  at  last  what  we  have  sown." 


In  September  they  went  back  to  town;  and  there 
at  once  he  felt  a  change.  In  the  posters,  editorials 
and  speeches  shouted  on  the  streets,  gone  was  the 
big  generous  vision  of  a  New  World  and  a  Great 
Peace;  and  all  around  him  Peter  could  feel  a  swiftly 
spreading  impatience  with  all  such  dreaming. 
"Crush  the  Huns!" 

"What  has  happened?  What  has  gone  wrong? 
How  have  they  changed  so  suddenly?"  he  asked. 
"Or  is  the  change  in  me?  Have  I  been  blind  to 
something  that  has  been  rising  all  the  while?" 

As  the  spell  of  the  War  let  go  of  him,  it  was  as 
though  he  had  climbed  a  hill  and,  looking  back  down 
on  the  battlefield,  for  the  first  time  realized  where 
he  had  been — looked  back  into  the  murk  and  din, 


204  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

the  smoke  and  heat,  and  saw  not  gods  but  common 
men,  in  whom  the  War  had  summoned  forth  not 
only  courage  and  devotion  but,  along  with  these, 
other  passions,  hate,  revenge.  And  with  grim  irony 
it  had  left  these  last  to  do  the  work  of  Peace.  Let 
anyone  speak  for  a  lasting  peace,  terms  possible, 
terms  reasonable,  and  they  cried,  "Down  him!  He's 
a  Hun!"  And,  as  this  hysteria  spread,  it  was  turned 
on  every  critic  of  the  existing  order  of  things.  Peter 
heard  the  word  "Bolshevik"  applied  to  almost  every 
man,  radical  or  liberal,  that  he  had  known  from 
the  time  long  ago  when  he  had  entered  the  Great 
Revolt. 

And  then,  one  night  in  early  December,  into  his 
home  came  Anna  Blainey.  Nearly  twenty  years  had 
gone  since  he  had  taught  in  her  small  school.  Since 
then,  he  had  seen  her  from  time  to  time  and  had 
helped  her  when  he  could.  Though  she  was  over 
sixty  now,  she  had  kept  strong,  and  there  was  still 
the  old  quiet  conviction  in  her  voice.  She  came  at 
once  to  the  point  of  her  visit. 

"Pve  come  to  ask  you,  Peter,  whether  you  can 
see  your  way  to  helping  us,"  she  started  in.  "I 
know  you  don't  agree  with  us  on  many  things,  but 
you  will  on  this.  You  are  a  liberal.  You  stand 
for  the  old  rights  and  liberties." 

"What  has  happened?"  Peter  asked. 

"A   mob   broke    into    our    school    tonight,    and 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  205 

smashed  our  desks,  typewriters — threw  them  out 
into  the  street.  And,  when  some  of  our  boys  and 
girls  tried  to  jump  in  and  interfere,  they  were  so 
badly  beaten  up  that  they  are  now  in  hospitals — 
and  one  boy  may  possibly  die."  She  went  on  to 
give  him  the  details.  "On  Friday  night,"  she 
ended,  "we're  going  to  hold  a  meeting  of  protest. 
I've  come  to  ask  if  you'll  be  there  to  speak  for  the 
rights  that  you  believe  in.  You  are  the  head  of  a 
big  public  school,  and  your  words  would  have  a 
strong  effect.  I  know  that  you  believe  in  schools — 
all  kinds  of  schools — in  a  free  country — free  to 
teach  whatever  they  like." 

"Except  violence,"  Peter  said. 

"But  you  know,"  she  retorted  quietly,  "that  we 
have  never  taught  that  in  my  school.  You  are 
against  violence.  You  are  against  that  mob  to 
night." 

He  looked  at  her. 

"Will  you  come?"  she  asked. 

"Let  me  think  it  over.  I'll  give  you  my  answer 
tomorrow,"  he  said. 

When  she  had  gone,  he  lit  his  pipe  and  settled 
down  to  face  a  storm  of  questioning.  He  was  filled 
with  a  sharp  exasperation — first  against  that  mob 
of  men,  and  then  against  her  and  all  her  friends. 
He  angrily  thought,  "It  isn't  so  simple  as  you  say! 
You  did  your  best,  every  one  of  you,  to  hinder  this 


206  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

country  in  the  War!  If  we'd  listened  to  you,  the 
Kaiser  would  now  be  ruling  a  German  world !  You 
were  wrong!  And,  too  dogmatic  still  to  see  it, 
you  have  seized  this  chance  to  make  capital  for 
your  propaganda  out  of  this  time  of  passion !  Why 
couldn't  you  have  waited  a  bit,  a  few  months  more, 
till  the  mob  quiets  down?  But  no,  you've  seized 
it  as  your  chance — paraded  waving  your  red  flags, 
held  meetings,  flooded  the  town  with  your  leaflets, 
did  all  you  could  to  rouse  the  storm!  And  now 
you  want  to  drag  into  it  men  like  me!  Do  you 
know  what  it  means?  If  I  go  and  speak  in  your 
defence,  at  once  I'm  called  a  Bolshevik  and  in  all 
probability  thrown  out  of  school !  All  my  life  work 
must  go  by  the  board!" 

But  his  anger  cooled  and  he  asked  himself,  "What 
am  I  so  excited  about?  Let's  try  to  be  fair  and  see 
this  right.  Is  she  driving  me  into  a  corner?  No. 
She  simply  asked,  'Can  you  see  your  way  to  speak 
at  our  meeting?'  If  I  refuse,  will  she  press  it? 
No."  He  puffed  his  pipe.  "But  can  I  refuse  ?  Do 
I  want  to  refuse  ?  I  do  believe  in  freedom  of  speech 
and  in  free  teaching,  as  she  said.  Am  I  ready  to 
stand  up  for  it  now?  That's  the  only  question 
here."  He  smiled  bitterly  and  asked,  "I  wonder 
if  all  liberal  men  are  to  be  driven  into  corners  like 
this?" 

And  his  anger  swung  back  against  the  mob. 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  207 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  Kate  came  home  and 
he  told  her  what  he  was  facing,  he  felt  her  go 
through  the  same  inner  conflict. 

"What  will  you  do?"  She  looked  at  him  anx 
iously.  And  when  at  first  he  made  no  reply,  "It 
isn't  simple,  is  it?"  she  said. 

"No — it  isn't  simple." 

"But  isn't  there  any  other  way  out,  a  way  we 
won't  be  ashamed  of?"  He  made  no  answer  for  a 
time.  Then  he  said, 

"She  had  a  big  ugly  bruise  on  her  hand.  I  no 
ticed  it  when  she  said  good-night.  .  .  .  And  she's 
over  sixty." 

Kate  turned  a  little  white  at  that.  Restlessly 
she  moved  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  down 
into  the  street.  A  few  moments  later,  he  heard 
her  ask, 

"What  would  John  Dillingham  say  to  this?" 

At  the  mention  of  his  name,  the  man's  whole  per 
sonality  seemed  to  pour  into  the  room.  And  there 
was  a  long  silence,  as  though  they  were  both  list 
ening. 

"He'd  be  angry  about  it  as  we  are,"  said  Peter 
quietly  at  last,  "both  with  the  mob  and  with  the 
Reds.  He'd  feel  his  school  in  danger.  But  he'd 
be  just  as  certain,  as  you  and  I  have  been  from  the 
start,  that  I've  got  to  go  to  that  meeting  and  speak." 

The  decision  brought  him  a  deep  relief.     His 


208  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

whole  mind  had  been  locked  tight  in  one  of  the 
worst  snarls  of  his  life,  but  now  the  eyes  of  his 
spirit  opened  abruptly,  wide  and  clear,  to  see  this 
in  its  true  proportions.  And  so,  in  the  brief  speech 
he  wrote,  he  put  into  phrases  blunt  and  plain  the 
facts  of  the  raid  and  his  protest  against  it,  and  then 
he  went  back  to  the  great  appeal  that  had  lifted 
America  into  the  War,  had  lifted  the  very  War 
itself  into  a  vast  devotion,  a  reaching  out  of  common 
men  for  the  old,  old  dream  of  the  Better  Day. 

Back  at  school  he  found  it  hard.  Though  he 
had  not  yet  announced  his  intention,  already  in  his 
fancy  Peter  could  see  the  satisfied  smiles  of  all  of 
his  old  enemies  in  the  city  public  schools.  How  they 
would  rub  their  dry  old  hands!  "We've  got  him 
at  last,  this  radical!  He  played  with  fire  when 
he  was  young.  He  has  been  dangerous  ever  since 
to  all  that  we  believe  in.  But  he  had  it  all  so 
nicely  hidden,  like  his  old  chief,  Dillingham.  Now, 
thank  God,  he's  driven  out  at  last  into  the  open!" 
Peter  grew  hot  and  cold  with  anger.  One  by  one 
the  things  he  had  planned,  with  Dillingham,  with 
Kate  or  alone,  the  vital,  definite,  concrete  things, 
steps  on  the  road  to  the  school  of  tomorrow,  crowded 
in  upon  him.  Must  they  all  be  given  up  ?  On  the 
day  of  the  meeting,  he  could  feel  the  rumor  spread 
of  what  he  was  about  to  do;  for  instantly  there 
came  a  change  in  the  attitude  of  his  teachers.  Those 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  209 

who  had  disliked  him  were  obviously  exulting  now, 
and  most  of  the  others  drew  away.  In  an  atmos 
phere  growing  quickly  cold,  he  could  almost  hear 
the  word,  "Bolshevik!" 

And  with  this  behind  him,  Peter  went  to  the 
meeting  that  night. 

There  he  found  the  street  outside  packed  with 
men,  or  rather  boys,  about  half  of  them  in  uniform. 
Several  hundred  policemen  kept  pushing  them  back 
from  two  narrow  lanes  that  led  into  the  building. 
As  Peter  came  through,  he  heard  shouts  and  jeers, 
saw  thousands  of  bitter,  angry  eyes.  The  hall  in 
side  was  filling  fast  with  radicals  of  various  kinds, 
some  frightened,  others  enjoying  the  thrill,  still 
others  with  the  exultant  look  of  martyrs.  Watch 
ing  them,  he  asked,  "What  chance  will  there  be  for 
any  clear  thinking  here  to-night?"  But  Peter  set 
his  heavy  jaws.  "I'm  not  going  to  back  out  of 
this."  He  looked  about  him  on  the  platform,  then 
glanced  through  the  list  of  speakers.  Anna  Blainey 
had  told  him  of  other  outsiders  she  meant  to  ask. 
There  were  none.  All  the  others  had  declined. 
More  and  more  his  look  went  down  to  the  row  of 
newspaper-men  who  were  sitting  just  beneath  him. 
"That's  really  why  I'm  here,"  he  thought. 

At  last  it  was  his  turn  to  speak.  In  the  begin 
ning  he  threw  out  his  blunt  statement  of  the  facts, 
his  protest  against  the  raid,  and  there  was  applause 


210  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

for  that;  but,  as  he  went  back  to  the  aims  of  the 
War,  he  felt  the  crowd  fast  drop  away;  he  faced 
long  rows  of  smiling  eyes  that  seemed  to  say,  "This 
poor  old  fool,  this  liberal!  A  good  old  scout,  he 
had  the  nerve  to  come  here  and  talk,  stand  up  for 
his  old  fashioned  ideals.  But  what  a  sentimental 
ist!  He  still  believes  in  this  Bourgeois  War  and 
in  this  League  of  Nations."  Grimly  he  continued. 
He  talked  no  longer  to  the  crowd  but  to  the  row 
of  men  from  the  press.  All  at  once  he  noticed  a 
youngster  there  whose  left  arm  was  in  a  sling  and 
who  wore  a  service  badge.  He  was  staring  up 
in  a  questioning  way;  and  looking  straight  down  at 
him  Peter  asked, 

"Have  we  so  soon  forgotten?  What  was  it  we 
were  fighting  for?  To  lick  the  Kaiser?  Yes,  but 
more.  What  was  it  roused  this  nation  from  East 
to  West  and  North  to  South?  Was  there  no  mighty 
vision  there?  Were  all  those  deaths  to  sweep  us 
on  to  a  world  no  better  than  before?  The  world 
made  safe  for  democracy.  Every  nation,  every 
man,  to  be  free  to  determine  his  own  life,  so  long 
as  he  does  not  harm  the  rest.  Live  and  let  live- 
tolerance.  Have  we  so  soon  forgotten  all  that? 
When  shall  such  belief  be  tested?  Only  when  we 
disagree.  The  Russian  Czar  and  the  Man  in  Ber 
lin  were  tolerant  toward  every  man  who  agreed 
with  them  and  upheld  their  rule.  Surely  we  mean 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  211 

more  than  that.  Here  are  men  we  do  not  agree 
with.  How  are  we  to  deal  with  them?  By  clap 
ping  them  all  into  jail?  By  mobbing,  lynching, 
beating  up,  all  that  we  don't  believe  in  ourselves? 
Is  this  the  way  to  the  Great  Peace  ?  What  do  you 
mean  by  democracy?  How  in  God's  name  can  it 
work,  if  we  turn  down  the  liberties  that  men  for 
ages  in  the  past  have  fought  and  died  for — freedom 
of  speech,  freedom  to  think  and  say  what  you  please, 
so  long  as  you  keep  within  your  rights!  And  the 
people  in  that  school  were  within  their  rights  last 
Tuesday  night!" 

A  burst  of  applause  from  the  Reds  behind,  and 
in  an  instant  Peter  felt  the  boy  to  whom  he  was 
talking  change  and  harden,  saw  him  glance  back 
with  dry,  bitter,  smiling  eyes.  The  futility  of  it! 
"What  can  I  do  in  a  place  like  this,  with  the  crowd 
in  here,  the  mob  outside?"  He  finished  his  speech; 
and  as  he  left  the  platform  he  heard  a  perfect  roar 
of  cheers,  as  a  well-known  socialist  arose. 

"That's  it,  that's  what  they  want,"  he  thought, 
"something  good  and  hot  and  blind — both  here  and 
out  there  on  the  street!" 

As  he  left  the  hall  and  came  through  the  lane 
between  the  angry  crowds  outside,  a  policeman 
started  to  follow  him,  but  Peter  quickly  turned  and 
said, 

"No,  thanks,  I  don't  want  your  protection." 


212  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

He  had  gone  but  a  short  way  down  the  street 
when  he  heard  steps  behind  him.  He  wheeled  and 
faced  two  furious  lads  who  wore  navy  uniforms. 
They  came  up ;  and  one  of  them,  who  did  not  look 
above  eighteen,  excitedly  demanded, 

"What  the  hell  were  you  doing  in  that  hall?" 
"Still  licking  the  Kaiser,"  Peter  said. 
"You  mean  you  were  talking  against  the  Reds?" 
"No,  I  was  talking  against  you.     And  I'm  old 
enough  to  be  your  father.     Go  on  home  and  go  to 
bed." 

They  hesitated,  scowling  up  with  fists  clenched 
and  threatening.  Then,  "Come  on,  Sam,"  the 
other  one  said,  "Let  this  Christ-forsaken  old  nut 
go  back  to  the  Asylum." 


The  next  afternoon,  in  the  office  of  "Old  Gran 
ite,"  the  deputy  school  superintendent,  Peter  said, 

"No— I  won't  resign." 

His  old  enemy's  face  wore  a  quizzical  smile. 
Not  after  those  accounts  in  the  papers?" 

"No — not  after  those  accounts.  They  garbled 
half  of  what  I  said  and  omitted  the  rest." 

"And  you're  willing,  while  this  fight  goes  on,  to 
keep  your  school  under  a  cloud  of  scandal,  treason 
and  disgrace?" 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  213 

"I'd  rather  do  that  than  leave  it  to  you." 

The  fight  dragged  on  for  several  weeks.  Red 
tape,  official  hearings,  a  special  committee  appointed 
to  investigate  his  case.  From  various  quarters,  both 
within  and  without  the  school  system,  forces  were 
roused  to  hold  back  the  steam  roller,  voices  were 
raised  in  Peter's  defence ;  but  the  other  voices  clam 
oring  in  soon  drowned  out  this  minority.  From 
the  time  so  many  years  before,  when  he  himself 
had  been  a  Red,  Peter's  speeches  were  brought  forth 
and  combined  with  his  defence  of  them  now.  Was 
such  a  man  to  be  left  in  charge  of  two  thousand 
boys  and  girls,  who  would  soon  be  citizens?  Should 
he  be  allowed  to  poison  their  minds  with  thoughts 
so  un-American? 

Just  before  the  new  year  began,  he  was  notified 
of  his  expulsion. 

There  followed  two  bleak,  bitter  months,  when  it 
seemed  to  Peter  Wells  as  though  the  whole  structure 
of  his  life  had  come  tumbling,  crashing  down.  With 
steady,  vigilant,  anxious  eyes  Kate  watched  him 
now.  They  were  alone.  Moon  Chao  and  Susanna 
were  still  in  France.  Moon  Chao  had  tackled  the 
hopeless  job  of  obtaining  ships  to  take  the  coolies 
back  to  their  homes;  and  Susanna,  since  the  Armi 
stice,  had  been  hard  at  work  on  Civilian  Relief  in 
the  devastated  regions.  Again  and  again  she  wrote 
long  letters  picturing  the  dire  need,  indignant  over 


214  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

the  lack  of  funds.     uHas  America  suddenly  gone 
poor?  What's  the  trouble  with  you  folks  at  home?" 

she  asked.     She  did  not  know  of  Peter's  trouble. 

• 

"Let's  wait,"  he  had  urged,  "till  she  comes  home. 
The  worst  will  all  be  over  then." 

But  the  worst  still  lay  ahead  of  him.  Tired, 
beaten,  dulled  at  first,  it  was  a  relief  to  have  the 
suspense,  the  tension,  the  publicity,  all  done  away 
with  and  to  rest.  It  was  good  to  stay  at  home  with 
Kate.  All  through  his  crisis,  she  had  been  a  tower 
of  strength  close  by  his  side ;  and,  though  she  looked 
tired  now,  she  was  a  great  companion.  Reading, 
knitting,  talking  at  times,  drifting  back  into  old 
memories — so  the  first  few  weeks  went  by.  But 
the  news  from  the  world  outside  kept  breaking  in 
upon  them.  Over  in  Paris  day  by  day  the  dream 
of  a  Great  Peace  grew  dim;  from  many  parts  of 
the  Old  World,  where  civilization  rocked  and 
groaned,  came  desperate  appeals  for  aid.  But  the 
people  over  here  had  grown  sick  and  tired  of  it 
all.  From  the  long  hard  drive  and  strain  and  exal 
tation  of  the  War,  they  were  turning  in  reaction  to 
an  era  of  grab  and  frenzied  spending.  On  the 
streets,  when  Peter  went  out,  their  faces  looked  hard 
and  tough  to  him ;  and  his  bitterness  was  made  more 
acute  by  the  injustice  he  had  suffered.  He  had  no 
money,  it  had  all  gone  into  war  activities.  So, 
through  the  few  friends  he  had  left,  he  managed 


BEGGARS'  GOL'D  215 

to  get  some  tutoring;  and  soon  he  was  going  about 
in  the  evenings,  as  he  had  done  long  ago.  He 
looked  years  older.  On  the  street  he  passed  young 
men  and  girls  on  their  way  to  dances,  movies,  plays, 
or  to  shops,  to  spend  their  money.  Most  of  them 
were  earning  more  than  any  teacher  in  Peter's  school. 
A  smart  young  girl  who  could  trim  a  hat  was  worth 
more  to  the  world  than  a  teacher  now. 


Slowly  the  winter  wore  away.  "We're  through 
the  worst  of  it,"  Kate  said.  "Susanna  will  soon 
be  coming  home,  and  in  May  we'll  go  to  the  moun 


tains."' 


But  early  in  March  she  took  a  bad  cold,  and 
Peter  made  her  go  to  bed.  "It's  nothing,"  she  said. 
"Just  leave  me  alone  and  you'll  see  how  much  better 
I'll  be  by  night."  But  when  he  came  home  that 
evening  he  found  her  much  worse,  with  pains  in 
her  chest,  her  color  high.  "It's  the  Flu,"  he  told 
himself.  Back  went  his  thoughts  to  the  night  long 
ago  when  Susanna  had  had  pneumonia.  Peter  had 
dreaded  it  ever  since.  "It's  so  damned  ugly — works 
so  fast — gives  you  no  time  to  get  ready!"  he  thought. 
"And  she  has  a  weak  heart!"  He  went  out  at  once 
for  a  doctor;  and,  when  an  hour  later  his  worst  fears 
were  realized,  Peter  braced  himself  and  said, 


216  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

"Now  tell  me  exactly  what  I'm  to  do." 

"Do  you  want  a  nurse?"  the  physician  asked. 

"No.  I  spoke  of  that.  She  won't  have  one.  She 
wants  me." 

He  went  back  and  sat  down  by  her  bed.  Her  eyes 
were  closed,  but  she  knew  he  was  there.  He  noticed 
now  the  lines  in  her  face.  Kate  was  forty-seven 
years  old,  and  her  soft,  fine  hair  was  already  turning 
grey.  "But  she  has  always  kept  herself  young,"  he 
thought  determinedly.  "She's  a  fighter,  and  she 
wants  to  live !"  In  a  moment  her  hand  came  out  for 
his. 

"I'm  pretty  sick,  Peter,"  she  whispered.  "But 
don't  worry.  We'll  get  through  this." 

"Yes." 

"Only  don't  go  away.  Keep  hold  of  my  hand. 
You  give  me  so  much  more  than  you  know." 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  night,  after  a  long, 
fierce  struggle  for  breath,  she  muttered,  smiling, 

"I  can't  stand  many  more  like  that." 

Peter  grew  rigid,  straining,  as  though  all  she  were 
suffering  had  been  gathered  into  himself. 

"It  won't  last  long.    You  must!"  he  said. 

An  hour,  and  another,  passed.  Between  the  bat 
tles  that  she  fought,  a  gleaming  light  came  in  her 
eyes. 

"I'm  going  somewhere,   Peter!"     Her   whisper 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  217 

was  so  sharp  and  clear  that  he  started  forward  in 
alarm.  "Back — back — back  to  the  East!  I  have 
the  strangest  feeling!  Keep  hold  of  me!  Remem 
ber,  dear " 

A  terrible  fear  struck  into  him  then.  Leaning 
forward,  her  hand  in  his,  he  felt  her  suddenly  slip 
away  from  him  into  delirium.  He  faced  his  last  big 
fight  alone. 

A  strange  thing  happened  to  Peter  that  night — 
strange  as  the  rising  of  the  sun,  mysterious  as  the 
break  of  day.  He  had  lived  with  Kate  nearly  thirty 
years.  In  all  that  time,  those  thousands  of  days,  in 
lives  all  filled  with  little  things — worries,  tangles, 
petty  quarrels,  disagreements,  comforts,  joys — their 
love,  upon  the  surface,  had  seemed  to  grow  dull, 
middle  aged.  But  to-night  he  knew  it  had  not  been 
so.  Beggars  sitting  on  bags  of  gold.  Down  be 
neath  their  consciousness  there  had  been  lived  two 
deeper  lives — lives  in  which  no  memories  were  ever 
lost  or  cast  aside,  where  all  their  struggles,  hopes 
and  dreams,  bleak  disappointments,  sudden  joys, 
lived  on,  piled  up.  And  between  those  lives  this  love 
had  grown  to  such  amazing  power  that  now  as  it 
came  bursting  up  he  felt  as  though  his  whole  exist 
ence  were  in  Kate's.  She  could  not  die!  Sitting 
there  with  her  hand  in  his,  he  could  feel  a  vital  cur 
rent  passing  into  her  from  himself.  "You  give  me 


218  BEGGARS1  GOLD 

so  much  more  than  you  know."  At  first  he  could 
feel  only  that.  But  later,  with  his  senses  dulled,  his 
inner  vision  growing  clear,  as  though  a  mist  were 
lifting,  other  intimations  rose — of  deep,  hungry 
aspirations,  the  grim  courage  that  had  never  died. 
And  as  from  that  subconscious  world  he  could  feel 
these  powers  rise,  in  the  days  and  nights  that  fol 
lowed,  his  strength  seemed  inexhaustible — giving, 
giving,  pouring  out,  yet  with  no  feeling  of  fatigue. 
He  had  no  need  of  food  or  sleep.  His  mind  kept 
curiously  clear.  Though  he  seemed  to  be  living  in  a 
dream,  the  figure  of  the  physician  kept  breaking  in 
at  intervals;  and  then  Peter  questioned,  answered, 
listened,  followed  each  direction.  And  yet  all  that 
was  trivial,  small,  mere  movements  in  a  little  room. 
The  greater  struggle  was  inside.  Down  in  deep, 
still  waters,  the  searching  and  the  finding  and  the 
outpouring  still  went  on. 

And  all  at  once  he  was  not  alone.  One  night, 
in  the  soft  glow  of  the  lamp,  he  saw  in  her  dark, 
shining  eyes  a  radiant  recognition. 

"I've  come  back,  dearie." 

"Where  have  you  been?" 

"At  first  I  wanted  to  go  to  China.  Oh,  how 
hard  I  wanted  it — the  cool,  dark  ocean  and  the  stars. 
But  I  could  feel  you  hold  me  back.  Too  tired  to 
fight  you,  I  gave  in.  And  you  said,  'There's  an 
other  journey.'  I  could  feel  you  take  my  hand — and 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  219 

off  we  drifted,  back  through  our  lives.  And — oh, 
Peter — the  miracles!"  Smiling  still,  she  closed  her 
eyes.  He  bent  close  over  her  and  said, 

"You  mustn't  try  to  tell  me  now — you  must  rest." 

There  came  in  answer  a  faint  ripple  of  a  laugh. 

"But  I'm  not  afraid  of  dying  now.  That  seems 
so  unimportant.  I've  so  much  to  tell  you  now.  The 
only  thing  I'm  afraid  of  is  that  after  being  very  good 
and  resting,  as  the  doctor  wants,  I  might  die  after  all 
and  not  have  told  you.  Oh  Peter,  Peter,  don't  let's 
fce  safe.  Let's  take  the  splendid,  dangerous  way. 
Come  with  me,  before  I  forget  1  There  was  so  much 
— but  all  in  a  dream.  Let's  go  and  find  if  it  was 
real!  Because  if  we  can  only  find  it — real,  real — 
not  just  a  dream — then  life  or  death  is  nothing!" 

Speaking  in  whispered  fragments — she  needed  no 
more,  for  he  caught  the  rest — as  in  a  rare,  exalted 
air,  along  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  just  clinging  to 
existence  but  with  no  fear  of  the  void  below,  she 
took  him  back  again  through  the  years.  And  now 
with  a  redoubled  warmth  he  felt  the  slowly  kindling 
glow  of  those  two  greater,  deeper  lives,  compound 
ed  of  What  Might  Have  Been.  She  whispered  just 
the  fragment,  "That  night  at  school — when  I  came 
out  in  the  hall  and  found  you  with  Moon  Chao." 
Then  up  with  a  rush  came  the  memories  of  that  first 
night  together,  and  of  the  months  that  followed, 
when  their  love  had  grown  as  though  never  to  stop. 


220  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

And  they  felt  how  it  might  have  gone  on  growing, 
breaking  all  chains;  all  the  petty,  worrying,  hard, 
little  things  swept  away  in  radiant  understandings, 
in  giving,  giving,  giving.  Only  to  one  another? 
No — reaching  out  beyond  themselves  and  turning 
everything  to  gold. 

"That  letter  from  Peking,"  she  whispered.  And 
this  time  nothing  could  hold  them  back.  No  cautious, 
anxious  reckoning.  What  an  ocean  they  crossed 
that  night — what  starry  skies !  And  the  old  city  of 
Peking — a  miracle  beyond  his  dreams — rich  with  a 
million  days  and  nights ! 

"And  the  school,"  she  whispered,  "grew  and 
grew !  Oh  how  hard  it  was  at  first.  There  was  so 
little  money,  so  few  friends  to  stand  behind  us.  And 
the  school,  so  tiny,  it  seemed  as  though  it  would 
never  start.  What  long,  long  nights  when  Susanna 
was  teething  and  I  was  teaching  you  Chinese!" 
Again  the  faint,  clear  ripple  of  laughter.  "But  how 
we  laughed  anJ  laughed  at  troubles.  The  miracle 
was  always  there — this  love  of  ours,  and  the  strength 
it  gave — the  dear  joy  of  being  alive  !  And  the  mem 
ory  of  Dad  was  there.  'Do  this  for  China — for  the 
East- — for  half  the  people  of  the  earth!'  .  .  .  And 
Moon  Chao — what  a  strange  little  boy — who  knew 
he  was  going  to  be  a  great  actor.  We  took  him  back 
to  live  with  us.  ...  And  the  winter  passed — and 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  221 

summer  came — and  we  went  out  of  the  city — to  the 
old  temple  on  the  hill. 

"And  all  that,"  she  said  softly,  "was  only  one  of 
the  Might-Have-Beens.  .  .  .  And  it  wasn't  just  a 
dream — it  was  more  real  than  the  things  we  did  all 
those  years  in  this  little  room.  It  was  always  there 
inside  of  us;  and  something,  so  tremendous,  bright, 
was  always  waiting,  whispering,  'Come  to  me,  and 
all  this  that  is  in  you  will  have  life !  Come,  come 
to  the  East,  the  splendid  East!'  .  .  .  Years — so 
many — wore  away.  And  when  Moon  Chao  came 
back  to  us  here,  do  you  remember  how  all  at  once, 
in  you,  in  me,  it  came  bursting  up,  and  we  knew  that 
it  had  never  died?  What  was  it  that  he  called  him 
self?  The  son  of  the  glory  of  our  youth!  And 
all  the  other  Might-Have-Beens — oh,  Peter,  they 
were  all  like  that — all  sons  of  the  love  that  had 
grown  and  grown — even  though  we  barely  knew! 
All  real !  Because  they  were  in  us  still — parts  of  the 
love  that  had  never  died!" 

She  drew  a  long,  smiling  breath,  and  he  saw  a  haze 
come  over  her  eyes. 

"Now  I'll  sleep,"  she  whispered. 

6. 

As  though  he  were  still  under  a  spell,  Peter  sat 
watching,  listening.  He  saw  the  lines  of  her  face 


222  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

relax,  the  breathing  slow  and  regular.  He  knew 
that  she  was  past  the  crisis;  and,  as  this  certainty 
grew  and  grew,  it  seemed  to  lift  him  up  on  wings. 
In  the  days  and  nights  that  followed,  this  feeling 
came  again  and  again,  sweeping  away  all  weariness, 
bearing  him  on  into  dreams  of  his  own. 

All  at  once  he  was  in  a  spacious  room.  Ho\^ 
quiet  it  was.  Only  now  and  then  he  heard  the 
turning  of  a  page.  He  began  to  see  the  faces  of 
hundreds  of  readers.  And  the  books — in  number 
less  thousands! — suddenly  they  seemed  alive.  And 
in  a  kind  of  terror  he  thought,  "All  the  world  is  in 
this  room!"  A  feverish  vigor  seized  him.  How 
swiftly  he  was  writing  now!  With  a  miraculous 
power  and  ease  the  images,  the  thoughts  and  scenes, 
kept  sweeping  up  out  of  himself.  As  he  wrote,  the 
figure  of  a  man  drew  close  and  real,  familiar,  mas 
sive.  And  Peter  grew  rigid,  as  in  a  trance;  for,  as 
he  wrote,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  himself  were 
facing  a  hundred  million  people — rousing  them  to 
a  consciousness  of  what  they  all  might  do  and  be! 
They  grew  tempestuous  as  the  sea !  And  straining, 
straining,  suddenly  as  though  some  heavy  bonds  had 
snapped,  he  felt  himself  soar  to  a  region  where  in 
spite  of  the  stillness  there  he  could  feel  the  irresist 
ible  rush  of  the  deep  waters  of  life.  Gigantic  figures 
loomed  around  him.  With  a  kind  of  awe  he  knew 
that  they  were  the  Great  Doers,  Builders,  Seers  of 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  223 

all  the  Ages.  Then  down  he  dropped  into  the  dark, 
exhausted,  into  dreamless  sleep. 

As  he  drifted  back  to  consciousness,  he  felt  a 
soft,  familiar  glow  of  light  and  warmth  around  him. 
He  opened  his  eyes,  and  suddenly  he  was  back  in  his 
room.  As  he  lay  on  his  bed,  he  felt  strange,  light 
headed,  weak.  "What  has  happened?"  He  tried 
to  think  it  out.  With  a  sharp  quick  effort  he  turned 
his  head  to  the  bed  next  his.  It  was  empty!  Kate 
was  gone !  And  terror  seized  him,  but  it  passed  al 
most  as  quickly  as  it  came ;  for  he  felt  her  presence 
in  the  room.  He  turned  his  head  the  other  way 
and  saw  her  sitting  by  the  lamp,  pale,  thin  and 
shadowy — like  a  ghost.  But,  as  though  she  had  been 
spoken  to,  she  looked  up  presently  from  her  book 
and  smiled  at  him. 

"Oh,  dearie,  what  a  sleep  youVe  had — and  how 
tired  you  must  be.  We'll  have  to  take  care  of  each 
•other  now." 

Slowly,  slowly,  day  and  night,  as  Kate's  strength 
returned  to  her,  they  felt  the  life  of  every  day  take 
hold  again  upon  them — its  small  details  all  welcome 
now,  for  they  felt  weary  and  relaxed.  The  room 
grew  more  and  more  real  to  them.  "Here  we  lived, 
those  thousands  of  days  and  nights — while  all  that 
went  on  inside."  Again  they  began  to  remember 
their  vision;  and,  as  one  by  one  the  intimations  out 
of  those  distant,  deeper  lives  came  stealing  back 


224  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

mysteriously,  once  more  they  felt  the  call  of  the 
East  and  drifted  into  dreamland. 


And  soon  that  summons  was  renewed,  in  terms  of 
warm  reality.  For,  in  the  weeks  that  followed,  first 
Moon  Chao  and  then  Susanna  came  back  from 
France.  And  Susanna,  so  much  more  mature  but 
impulsive  as  before,  filled  with  dismay  at  the  change 
in  her  parents,  and  with  indignation  over  the  injus 
tice  Peter  had  suffered  in  his  school,  shook  off 
her  old  hostility  to  Moon  Chao  and  supported  his 
plan  that  her  parents  should  go  with  him  to  Peking. 

"It's  what  you  have  both  wanted  all  your  lives," 
Susanna  said,  "and  there  isn't  a  reason  on  earth  why 
you  shouldn't  go  there  now.  And  I  am  going  with 
you.  After  what  I've  been  through  in  France,  I 
want  to  get  just  as  far  away  from  the  War  as  I  pos 
sibly  can.  I  don't  mean  to  be  a  slacker — I'll  soon 
find  a  job  over  there.  If  I  don't  like  it,  I  may  come 
back — and  you  may  want  to  do  the  same.  But  this  is 
no  time  for  attempting  to  plan  out  all  the  rest  of 
our  days.  The  point  is  that  we  all  need  a  big  change 
• — and  we're  going  to  have  it!" 

One  by  one  their  objections  were  swept  aside. 
Money?  Susanna  had  some  saved,  and  there  were  a 
few  Liberty  Bonds  to  be  sold,  and  the  furniture  in 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  225 

the  flat.  This  would  take  them  to  Peking,  and  there 
Moon  Chao  offered  them  his  home. 

uYou  must  stay  with  me  as  long  as  you  like/'  he 
•begged  them,  "I  hope  it  will  be  for  years !  Think 
of  all  you  have  done  for  me.  You  have  treated  me 
like  a  son,  and  you  must  let  me  be  one  now.  I  know 
you  will  not  be  so  unkind  as  to  refuse  me — you  will 
come !  In  my  house  there  are  many  rooms,"  he  con 
tinued,  smiling,  uand  there  is  a  little  garden,  where 
we  shall  sit  under  the  skies  at  night  and  talk  of  the 
work  we  have  done  that  day,  and  of  the  work  that 
we  shall  do — for  in  my  school  there  is  work  for  you 
both;  and,  if  you  decide  to  stay  in  China,  there  will 
be  work  for  the  rest  of  your  lives.  And  there  will 
be  so  much  more  than  that !  For  do  not  forget  the 
theatre — the  nights  when  in  rickshaws  we  shall  rush 
along  through  dark  and  silent  streets — deep  into 
the  glories  of  the  Past,  and  of  the  years  that  rise 
ahead!" 

"Oh  Moon  Chao !"  Kate  whispered.  There  were 
warm  tears  in  her  bright  eyes.  "If  only  I  were 
strong  and  young!"  Her  strength  was  so  precarious 
still;  she  seemed  but  the  phantom  of  her  old  self. 
After  the  desperate  crisis  through  which  they  had 
come  together,  it  had  been  good  to  sink  again  into 
this  familiar  life.  They  had  lived  here  nearly  thirty 
years,  and  it  was  hard  to  break  away. 

As  they  were  still  holding  back,  still  undecided  and 


226  BEGGARS*  GOLD 

afraid  that  they  might  be  a  burden,  Susanna  came 
home  in  triumph  one  day  and  announced  that  she 
had  taken  a  place  in  the  new  American  hospital 
which  had  been  opened  in  Peking. 

"That  settles  it!"  she  ended,  in  a  firm,  decided 
tone. 

But  it  seemed  to  Peter  still  like  a  dream. 

"You  see,  Moon  Chao,  Fm  getting  old,"  he  said, 
"too  old  for  a  big  fresh  start  like  this.  I  keep  won 
dering  how  much  use  I'll  be." 

It  was  a  lovely  afternoon  toward  the  end  of  April. 
They  had  brought  Kate  up  to  the  roof  of  the  old 
house  on  Stuyvesant  Square,  where  the  voice  of  the 
turgid  city  beneath  was  subdued  and  far  away,  where 
the  sun  with  all  its  healing  glow  seemed  pouring  new 
life  into  her.  Now  it  was  well  down  in  the  West. 

"Old?"  Moon  Chao  leaned  forward,  his  big 
eyes  flashing  in  the  sun.  "Now  you  yourself  shall 
reveal  to  me  the  deep,  deep  youth  inside  of  you! 
That  mighty,  mighty  life  beneath,  those  boundless 
depths  and  visions — have  you  forgotten  all  so  soon? 
When  you  sat  by  the  bed  of  your  wife,  and  soared 
away  on  memory  wings  to  the  East  with  her — did 
you  feel  old?  Old  age  is  only  for  the  blind !  Blind 
beggars!  You  have  seen  the  gold!  Come  to  the 
East  and  you  will  see  the  beginnings  of  what  will  set 
the  whole  world  free  from  the  chains  that  bind  us 
now !  In  every  country  of  the  earth,  cold  and  dark, 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  227 

tumultuous  years,  a  vast  confusion,  looms  ahead. 
And  the  darkness  will  not  be  dispelled  till  the  Great 
Secret  is  revealed!  Come  to  the  East,  and  you 
shall  see!" 

Kate  smiled  at  this  fantastic  boy,  so  gay  with  the 
eternal,  radiant  arrogance  of  dreams,  the  arrogance 
of  being  young,  of  seeing,  understanding  all,  of 
sweeping  all  humanity  into  himself  and,  like  a  god, 
moulding  it  to  his  own  image.  She  asked  him, 

"What  is  the  Great  Secret?" 

Moon  Chao  looked  off  to  the  setting  sun. 

"I  think  that  I  can  tell  you  best  by  a  little  story," 
he  replied.  "One  night  in  Peking,  I  sat  by  a  win 
dow  listening  to  a  speech  on  the  street.  It  was  a  soft 
and  lovely  night — soft  as  the  air  in  the  East  can  be, 
lovely  with  rich  colors,  and  the  stars  and  a  great 
half  moon.  The  speaker  was  a  student  boy.  He 
was  talking  to  a  group  of  peasants  come  into  the  mar 
kets  from  the  farms,  and  he  spoke  of  how  the  power 
of  the  rulers  of  Japan  was  slowly  fastening  on 
our  land.  'What  will  this  mean  to  you?'  he  asked. 
'Will  they  drive  you  off  your  farms?  No,  you  will 
labor  as  before.  But  through  taxes,  mortgage  bonds 
and  many,  many  tyrannies,  year  by  year  the  chains 
will  grow — until  at  last  when  you  are  old  you  will 
be  no  longer  men  but  slaves!  Then  the  time  will 
come  for  you  to  die,  and  you  will  go  to  your  ances 
tors.  They  will  ask,  "What  have  you  done  with 


228  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

China?"  Think  of  the  shame  you  will  feel  then!' 
When  he  spoke  these  words,  you  could  see  in  their 
faces  how  all  these  peasants  came  under  a  spell.  It 
was  as  though  some  mighty  hand  had  been  laid  upon 
their  spirits.  'But,  in  your  everlasting  lives,  this 
will  not  be  the  worst/  he  said,  'the  deepest  shame 
you  must  endure.  For  the  state  of  China  under 
Japan  will  steadily  go  down  and  down,  and  the 
slavery  you  suffered  here  will  be  as  nothing  when 
compared  to  the  deepening  degradation  that  will 
come  to  the  spirits  of  your  sons.  And  then  these 
sons  in  turn  will  die  and  will  come  to  you,  their  an 
cestors.  'What  did  you  do  to  China?'  they  will 
demand  in  sorrow.  Think  of  the  shame  you  will 
feel  then!'" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Moon  Chao 
turned  quietly  back  to  Kate  and  said, 

"This  is  the  Great  Secret.  In  the  East,  we  think 
not  only  of  what  is  outside  a  man's  body  but  of  how 
it  will  affect  the  man's  spirit  life  within.  .  .  .  The 
people  of  America  arc  not  thinking  of  that  now." 

They  listened  to  the  roar  from  below.  It  was  the 
rush  hour,  five  o'clock. 

"No,  they  are  not  thinking  of  that,"  said  Peter. 
"But  a  year  ago " 

"Yes,  then  you  felt  a  Great  New  Day — stealing 
over  the  face  of  the  earth !  But,  as  you  had  always 
done  before,  you  fastened  your  thoughts  on  what 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  229 

you  must  do!  You  did  not  stop  to  think  out  what 
you  felt  or  to  clear  up  your  new  ideal !  A  generous 
impulse  swept  your  land — and  you  could  make  guns 
— and  you  could  kill  men!  And  so  you  saved  the 
world  from  Berlin !  But  then,  because  this  new  ideal 
was  only  an  impulse,  very  vague — or  perhaps  a  mil 
lion  impulses  of  different  kinds,  not  strong  and 
clear — it  could  not  hold  together  and  keep  its  grip 
upon  your  souls  !  So  it  died !  Already  in  Versailles 
the  great  promises  you  made,  to  China  and  all  coun 
tries,  one  by  one  are  being  betrayed !  And  by  your 
splenA'd  sacrifice  what  good  did  you  do — to  the 
world,  to  yourselves?  Thirty  million  people  are 
dead!  Has  the  world  been  made  better,  happier? 
No! 

"Your  western  revolutionists  declare,  'But  we  will 
make  it  so.1  And  they  point  to  books  by  thousands, 
expounding  and  expounding  their  plan  of  freedom 
for  all  men.  I  find  so  much  in  them  that  is  true, 
that  I  believe  their  rising  force  is  needed  now  to 
blast  away  the  rubbish  heaps  of  old  ideas.  But  one 
great  thing  I  do  not  find.  They  give  no  thought  to 
the  inner  man.  They  will  try  to  change  the  world 
outside  by  giving  it  to  .the  man  on  the  street.  They 
believe  in  him,  and  they  are  right.  He  has  the  gold 
inside  of  him.  But  to  give  it  conscious  life,  that  is 
the  Great  Enigma!  To  destroy — yes,  that  is  easy 
— and  it  will  be  quickly  done.  But  then  they  will  be- 


23o  BEGGARS*  GOLD 

gin  to  build,  and  as  in  Russia  they  will  find  that  the 
peasants  and  the  laborers  will  show  dull  eyes  for 
great  ideals  and  hard  tight  fists  for  what  is  theirs. 
Into  their  new  governments  will  creep  intrigues  and 
scandal,  greed  and  waste  and  stupid  bungling,  as 
of  old.  And  even  when  at  last  they  build  a  govern 
ment,  a  system,  that  will  feed  their  bodies,  the  mass 
will  say,  'It  is  enough.  Now  we  have  enough  to  eat, 
clothes  to  wear  and  good  warm  homes.  Let  us  risk 
no  more  new  ideas.  Let  all  our  very  comfortable 
and  equal  citizens  think  alike.' 

"Some  will  bitterly  declare  that  this  dreary  same 
ness  is  all  the  fault  of  the  common  crowd  and  the 
new  order.  They  will  be  wrong!  It  began  a  hun 
dred  years  ago.  Already  the  world  has  been  bound 
so  close  that  what  one  nation  does  or  dreams  damns 
or  blesses  all  the  rest;  and  this  will  go  on,  in  the 
years  ahead,  even  swifter  than  before.  Armies,  not 
of  soldiers  but  of  commercial  travellers,  will  flow 
back  and  forth  in  endless  tides  by  ships  and  trains,  on 
land  and  sea.  Factories  by  millions,  and  books, 
newspapers,  picture  shows,  will  pour  forth  their  pat 
tern  goods,  their  pattern  thoughts  and  feelings— all 
working  swiftly  to  one  end — that  all  the  peoples  of 
the  earth  shall  wear  the  same  clothes,  think  alike, 
and  see  and  feel  and  dream  alike !  What  a  dreary 
world  it  will  seem  to  be !" 

He  stopped  abruptly,  his  big  lean  hands  locked 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  231 

together  like  a  vise,  and  again  he  stared  at  the  set 
ting  sun.  Then  Kate,  who  had  been  watching  him 
affectionately,  smiled  and  said, 

"But  the  Great  Secret.  Have  you  forgotten  that, 
Moon  Chao?" 

He  turned  back  to  her. 

"No — I  have  not  forgotten."  His  voice  was  low 
and  quivering.  "For,  from  the  beginning,  while  all 
that  is  going  on,  beneath  that  comfort  of  the  body, 
that  stagnation  of  the  mind,  will  still  be  the  eternal, 
unconscious,  yearning  cry  of  man,  'Let  me  be  free 
within  my  soul !  Let  me  be  different — myself !'  In 
every  land,  from  the  very  start,  there  will  be  some 
to  voice  this  yearning — only  a  few,  but  they  will 
increase,  and  they  will  search  the  world  for  their 
friends.  Over  the  lands  and  across  the  seas,  and  in 
vessels  through  the  skies,  will  go  these  rebel  dream 
ers;  and  in  each  land  they  will  find  what  they  seek. 
Beneath  the  deadening  sameness,  the  differences  will 
still  exist.  They  will  find  this  passion  for  liberty 
still.  With  a  glad  light  in  their  eyes,  they  will 
cry, 

"  'Oh  my  foreign  brother,  thank  the  Gods  we  are 
not  alike !  And  in  our  very  differences,  the  joy  of 
life,  the  fascination,  and  the  essential  brotherhood 
lies !  We  are  not  the  same — so  we  can  give !  How 
much  you  have  to  learn  from  us;  how  much  we  have 
to  learn  from  you !  But  in  all  this  giving,  learning, 


232  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

let  us  never  become  the  same !  What  we  take  let  us 
make  our  own,  so  that  in  passing  from  you  to  us  it 
shall  become  different — something  new!' 

"In  things  for  the  body  this  is  hard,  but  in  things 
for  the  spirit  it  is  not  so.  What  is  the  greatest 
new  force  of  our  age?  The  awakening  of  Woman 
to  the  things  that  she  can  do.  There  at  first  the 
West  will  teach  the  East.  But,  when  our  women 
have  roused  at  last,  will  they  be  the  same  as  your 
women  here?  No,  no,  no,  a  thousand  times — ah, 
how  different  they  will  be !  Only  this  they  will  have 
alike — their  love  of  children,  the  mother's  belief 
that  in  her  child  there  is  great  gold.  And  to  save 
this  gold  before  the  child  shall  harden  into  a  dull 
beggar  man,  the  mothers  in  every  land  will  rise, 
demanding  schools — schools  multiplied — schools 
splendid — schools  into  which  is  poured  .a  wealth  of 
wisdom,  watchful  care  and  understanding  sympa 
thies,  a  wealth  as  deep  as  the  gold  that  lies  in  the 
children  waiting  for  the  light!  For  in  this  is  the 
whole  hope  of  the  world.  Slowly,  slowly,  it  will 
be — not  by  sudden  miracles  but  through  struggles 
and  mistakes,  through  many  generations,  that  these 
children  growing  up,  different  in  every  land,  will 
slowly  rear  upon  the  earth  and  reaching  up  into  the 
stars,  a  new  civilization,  built  on  the  communion  of 
free  individual  souls — helping  one  another — giving, 
receiving — rising  still!  Only  then  will  the  radiant 


BEGGARS'  GOLD  233 

splendor  of  the  Brotherhood  of  Man  be  flashed  up 
into  the  heavens!  And  the  past  will  then  seem 
cold  and  dim  as  the  deepening  dusk  in  a  valley  be 
low.  We  shall  see  shadows  loom  down  there,  shades 
of  the  great  men  of  the  past.  They  were  great  men, 
those  ancestors,"  he  ended  in  a  reverent  tone,  "they 
were  as  great  as  men  can  be  when  rising  each  by 
himself  alone,  out  of  the  dark  valley  depths.  But 
up  on  the  high  plateau  of  the  future,  other  great 
men  will  arise,  who  need  not  start  from  the  depths 
below — they  will  start  from  the  mountain  ridge  of 
the  new  common  life  of  men !  And  so  their  shining 
peaks  will  rise — and  men  and  gods  will  at  last  be 


one." 


As  though  coming  slowly  back  from  a  far  distant 
country,  he  looked  at  Kate,  whose  smiling  face  was 
quivering  and  wet  with  tears.  He  took  her  hand  and 
turned  to  Peter. 

''Come  to  the  East!"  he  whispered.  "Be  one  of 
the  explorers  into  the  vast  mysterious  life  which  in 
your  vision  you  have  seen.  Come  and  help  me  in 
my  school,  and  watch  the  great  awakening!  Come 
with  me !  I  am  the  son  of  the  first  glory  of  your 
youth — and  I  have  come  back  to  bid  you  heed  the 
voice  of  the  gods  within  you,  whispering,  'Live! 
You  are  still  young!1 ' 

It  seemed  to  Peter,  as  he  turned  his  eyes  out 
over  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  city,  off  across  the 


234  BEGGARS'  GOLD 

river  to  the  glow  in  the  darkening  sky,  that  all  he 
heard  had  been  a  dream.  And  as  in  a  trarce  he 
heard  Kate's  voice,  as  she  answered  softly, 

"Yes,  now  at  last,  Moon  Chao,  we'll  come — to  the 
East  to  help  you  in  your  school — and  see  a  thou 
sand  years  ahead — into  the  Promised  Land  at  last 
— into  the  death  of  the  Beggar  Days — into  the  birth 
of  the  Age  of  Gold." 


nKra 

SS&S**""    CENTS 


JAN  31  1933 


JUL 


RECDL! 


6845 / 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


